Because Gorillaz Mate For Life
by Anonymicious
Summary: Love is a complication of sex. Mates with benefits is enough. At least according to Murdoc. But according to 2D? Not so much. Through his troubled years with Murdoc, 2D's learned that love isn't an easy game to play, and sometimes your prize has been right beside you for years. Your best frenemy. The story of 2DXMurdoc, from VERY begining to VERY end.LEMON M*SEMI INTERACTIV*
1. 1: And His name was Murdoc Niccals

**ANOUNCMENT: Okay everyone, so trust me, I wouldn't be the one to get the actual story line of gorillaz wrong, but to fit in everything I wanted to, I had to switch it up a little bit, such as how 2d met Paula, and most importantly, I made it so 2D was never in a stage of catatonia, but instead, woke up for a minute, only to fall into a coma,. ONE MORE THING: I'm not going to spell out the accents, because that's kind of confusing. : P ha-ha so yes, if something is wrong, I probably meant for it. Anyways, it's simple; like it, or don't. But year :) Here ya go.**

***Hey guys, so i edited most of this, but some of the writing might be a bit less than the later chapters, so if you want to check those...***

**Chapter One: 2D's Pov: And his Name Was Murdoc Niccals.**

**Aftermath:**

Words. _Big words, small words, long words, short words, stop._

There's too many of them if you ask me, and by now, I've developed enough hate in my lungs and brain and heart to want to burn every dictionary I see. I just hate them, I'm sorry. There's barely a reason, but I do. I do hate words, and I speak them, and I use them, but I hate them, and I will never stop.

s... Everywhere, and they go on and on to the stars... Different pronunciations and ways of spelling them. It gets confusing, really. I'm not trying to sound like an idiot or anything, but I can't just carry around a dictionary or thesaurus or whatever. Life is quick, and fastpaced. No time for fact, this might sound daft, but sometimes I'll just lie around and ask myself how I can remember all these words and sentences.

So many of them. Just buzzing around tiny little fly's trying to make room for each other. But there are millions of them. And more being added every day. No more room. And I'll think about this until eventually... well I start to forget words. And since that first time I lay myself down in a prickly patch of grass, and I looked up at those stars where maybe he is now, something happened.

It seemed as though it was the first time I wanted to forget something, but couldn't. And of course, at this time I didn't know the stream of things following that I would want to forget. I wouldn't forget these either. No matter how much I wanted to.

But look at me here. Going into an entire different little spiel. When throughout this paragraph, all I've been trying to do is say the words I've been trying to forget. And those words were "_HEY KID, WATCH OUT!"_

Stupid right? I know, I know. And that's what I tell myself. And though it's true, I can never seem to fully believe it. But those four words, those simple little words, have had the power to make me remember, what might be the most important day of my life. Or maybe the least, or the best, or the worst, but who really fucking cares, because these are all words, and I hate words... So much...

**Before Everything:**

****_Hey Mr. clock... You uh... wanna stike me off my shift? Now?... Fuck you than... Here we go. Tick._

And it finally looks like another long day of nothing and nothing, and the beautiful nothing is coming to an end. Thank god, or timelords.. Well...hold on.. Actually it looked as though I was going to get to leave early, but that dream shortly comes to an end as a short little man with pimples matching his red hair, quite nicely, enters the store.

Thanks blud. While that sucks. He pokes around the entrance of the store a bit as I stack the rest of the keyboards. I realize I'm supposed to be polite or whatever and greet him.

"Hello, can I help you?" He rubs the tip of his chin.

"Nah thanks son. Just lookin." Son? While how old is this guy? I focus my eyes a bit, only to reveal that he looks almost fifty or something. I can't tell for sure, but he's old. I nod.

"Sure. Just uh... let me know."Somewhere in the distance, a car engine roars quite loudly, grumbling and crackling in the navy black night. Maybe it's a transformer doing something, I dunno.

"drag racers." The fire headed man mumbles to himself. He's probably right. But then, almost on cue of my suspicion, the sound grows louder, and more threatening. And it just keeps getting louder, and the childish part of my brain (which is most of it) tells me it sounds like a dragon, or a night beast.

But I put my head back down, and continue stacking. I really need to finish this. And than it came. The words that I'll remember for the rest of my life, and the reason for them.

"HEY KID WATCH OUT!" Yells the red headed man. But I'm too late. Glass flies like sparrows, , shattering on the wooden floor. The hole in the window was created in less than a second. And in came the car. And in came the rest of my life, I guess

_/

_No. Words. Mum. Captain Krakatoa. Cookies. I hate spagetti. No I don't. I hate words. Awake._

The first thing that smacks me when I wake up on the cold wooden floor of the keyboard shop I work in is the abrupt stinging pain in my right eye. The second is the fact that I can taste my own blood, so I know that can't be good.

My hands, I try to move them up to my head. But they're in too much pain. I can feel warm blood, on the back of my neck, sticking to my hair. Then comes the third thing I remember.

A laugh. An evil laugh, that sends a cold chill up my spine. I opened my eyes to try to see who this was. Was he going to kill me? Surely if he's a murderer or burglar, he would have to kill the witnesses. I was a witness.

I see him. A tall spidery man with sickish skin, black greasy hair and a squat boot shaped nose. He has one red eye. How he looks scares me. I've never seen anyone so... well demonic is the only way I can describe it right. He hops out of his car and looks around. He turns to the man with the red hair, who's cowering in the corner, and gives him a ghastly snare, revealing sharp teeth.

"You! Who the hell are you? Get the fuck out, if you know what's good for yeh." After the burglar's words, this man books it out the door. Coward. Didn't even think of helping me. The robber hasn't seemed to see me yet.

He runs over to the shelf where I've been stacking the keyboards and begins grabbing madly. Bringing instruments over to the back of his car that's half in the building, half out. So he's stealing instruments huh?

_"Well... " _I think. _"You could have just asked."_

But I'm a dumbarse, and I didn't realize this. But id said that out loud. Well, really it was something more like. "Yehh cudv...as'd." But what I meant doesn't matter. He turns one of his eyes sharply to me, and his mouth half drops open.

He slowly walks over towards my half lifeless body, which I've just realized is pinned by his car to the floor. "Huh?" He mutters in a raspy voice.

He begins to laugh a bit..

"Shit." He chuckles, and walks over to kicks me sharply in the side of the head. "Hey ugly! Are you dead?" I shake my head as best as I can seeing as the state I'm in.

"N...no." I answer stupidly.

He laughs evilly. "That's too bad. Looks like I'm going to have to kill you then." My eyes widen and I try to back up out of the car, shaking.

"P-please don't kill me. I won't-um-I-I" I stutter. He laughs again, louder this time.

"Calm down kid. Can't you take a joke? Pansy." I sigh, and my heart slows down a bit from the racing it was doing before.

"Oh. Okay." He goes back to the keyboards, piling them into the car.

"Well, I'd love to chat kid, but I'm a bit busy stealing this shit as you can see." A trickle of blood runs down to my eye. I wipe it off.

"Help. Please." I say softly, still shaking. He scoffs.

"Funny. Yeah, um no I think I'll pass." I close my eyes again, and the last thing I remember is a whaling siren in the distance, mixed with the cursing of this man, whose name I don't know yet. Not that I want too... With luck, I'll never see him again. With luck, maybe I'll live... With luck... is that a butterfly?

_/

_No. Wasn't a butterfly. Space rangers. Words. Destiny Davis. More cookies. I still hate spagetti. I still don't. I hate words. Awake._

This would be, my second time waking up confused, unaware of what was going on. And hopefully the last.

I think I'm in the hospital. This is because of the beeping bloopity noises that remind me of my keyboard, the smell of some sort of medicine, or injection, and the hospital pillows, that I'm used to by now. I'm sort of accident prone.

My heart, I realize is still beating from the accident, and I can hear it like a drum, beating in my head, chiming along to the bloopity noises that the hospital machines are making.

I open one eye. Everything is foggy and distorted. Through the blur, I can make out a dark skinned figure, sticking out in the powder blue room. An unfamiliar woman's voice finds its way into my ears.

"Hello Stuart. How are you feeling?" She says calmly. My eye stings. Bad. Along with my head and legs, and basically the rest of my body.

"My eye hurts. Who are you?" I say raspy, as she pulls out a clipboard and a black pen.

"My name is Doctor Kingsbury." She begins scrawling things down onto her clipboard. I groan. Pain seems to be spitting at every inch of my body.

"How did I get here? What happened?" She continues with her clipboard.

"You were in an accident. You've just woken up from a coma. Your fine now. Everything is okay." I sigh.

"And the guy who did this? Where's he? And my parents? And-"

"Slow down Stuart. You've only just woken up." She says brushing back a piece of her short black hair.

"Now you should get some rest." Is this woman serious? I've just been lifeless for god knows how long, and she wants me to sleep?

Just as she's about to say something else the door opens, and in comes my mother. She's been crying I can tell. She looks at me and her eyes widen.

"Oh my god. Baby…you." She stumbles over and hugs me around my neck. I feel her tears drip down onto my hospital gown. God, when did they change me into this? What if they saw me nudes?

"Hello mum." I creek a bit too normally for the situation.

She holds back her sobs for a moment. "I thought you'd never wake up."

I laugh softly.

"Well, here I am."

I've taken this too lightly for her, and she begins the sobbing again, straight into my chest, and she stops only to mumble me words.

"My baby boy, my darling... I thought you were dead, we all did, we- I... I love you, I-"

"Mum, I love you too. It's okay. I'm here." I comfort her, only it doesn't work. I flip her twenty minutes to cool off the sobs.

Where's dad?" I ask. She snuffles a bit and answers.

"He should be on his way soon." I nod, and the pain comes back.

"Where are my pills?" She nods and reaches into her purse and pulls out a blue bottle, as the tears have seemed to stop draining from her brown eyes that I've inherited. She screws off the top of the pill bottle and hands me a few. I dry swallow them. I'm used to it by now. The doctor raises an eyebrow.

"We don't really allow outside medicine." My mum ignores this. She's good at that.

"How are you feeling Stu?" I shrug.

"My eye hurts a lot..." She looks at me worriedly. Like there's something I don't know. I frown. "What is it?" She hugs me again.

"It's alright dear ... it's just..." She pulls out a small yellow compact mirror.

"Mrs. Pot, you shouldn't-" My mother ignores her once again and opens the mirror. She hands it to me. I look at my face. Its bruised, battered cut, and to top it off, I'm missing my right eyeball. A rabithole. Dark decent. A Black nothing.

"What the hell? MY EYEBALLS GONE." I sputter loudly in shock.

My mum shakes her head. "No honey, it's still there ... It got pushed back in the accident, the doctors say." And I just sit there. Silent from the shock of this all.

"Oh…god..." I reply, trying to touch my empty seeming eye, but pulling away in shock.

"And the bastard who did this? Where's he?" I ask. Mum shakes her head and sighs.

"The police caught him. They're figuring out his sentence now actually. They found a witness who saw everything. He was stealing instruments or something."

Well, I could have told her that. And as for his sentence? I couldn't care less what happena to him. Thanks to him, I look like a freak. Creepy, really. But that man. There's about him. Something a bit eerie. Like I'd seen him before. Like there was something important about him. Maybe sueing him will make us rich, but I'm not really one to press charges. I'd rather just not see him again. Good enough of an answer for me.

_/

_Rain rain, go away. Except don't, cause' you're not rain, you're a shower. Haha._

It wasn't until I was out of the shower on a rather cloudy looking Tuesday, that I realized I got to leave the hospital today.

The doctors had said that I should be kept here a few days to make sure I didn't slip back into a coma or something like that. Id been fine though, throughout those couple of days. Just more tired than usual. And slow feeling.

That was the main thing really, what worried everyone. How slow and tired I was. I wasn't really listening to be honest, but the doctors may have said something about brain damage.

I wouldn't be surprised. That car just hit me. Hard. And fast. And I have this habit of thinking about the last thing I was thinking about when something big has happened. And as I dry my hair with a white hospital towel, that's what I think about.

What the last thing I was thinking before the accident was. And I can't remember. Not for the life of me. Must be my damaged head. But damaged head or not, I heard from some mental man in the hallway that it was spaghetti day in the cafeteria, and I'm not going to miss that.

So I quickly pull on my clothes and head out of my hospital room. The halls smell like insulin, I know this because I had a diabetic friend once as a child. But with the smell of insulin, also comes sort of a quaint cleanliness smell. But not the kind you smell at your home, but like a hospital cleanliness.

And then the smell is joined by spaghetti, which is a good sign, because since this accident, I'm even worse at remembering things than I was before, so though i've been in this particular hospital a lot, I can't remember where the cafeteria is.

So I follow my nose, and within about twenty seconds, i've found it. The air smells of grease, and of course spaghetti. it's just made me realize how hungry I am.

As I'm about to make my way over to the food line, I feel a light tap on my shoulder. I turn around to see the same mentally distorted man id seen talking about spaghetti day in the hallway smiling at me through yellow teethe. He itches his curly grey hair.

"Heey little boy blue! How you feelin?" He asks patting me on the back.

I raise an eyebrow, though smiling not to seem rude.

"Oh, hello." I answer back. "Fine, thanks."

He lets out some sort of stifled laugh or giggle or something, that I can't really place. "Good! Good! You seen this weather? Its out of this world! Like mars weather or something!" He continues laughing. "So many clouds."

I nod. "Ha. Yeah.. clouds."

"My names claude." He says, though I didn't ask but im not going to object.

"Oh." I say nervously. "Hello claude."

He begins some sort of rant about enchanted poppy seeds in the water supply, when a young nurse with glasses and a hook nose comes up behind him. "Robert." She begins. "Your supposed to be in your room."

Robert? I'd thought his name was Claude. Huh. Must belong to the nut wing. As she's walking away with him, she turns back to me.

"Oh, your Mr. Stuart pot right?" She asks.

I look down at myself daftly, as though I don't know. "Oh ... yeah."

She smiles. "Your ride is outside dear."

I raise an eyebrow. "My ride? I didn't know any one was coming."

She shrugs. "Oh.. Well doctor Kingsbury told me to tell you that. I don't know much more."

"Oh." I say back. Well there goes my spaghetti. That's too bad

. As I walk away she calls back to me.

"Oh, and he's in a brown car Stuart." Oh yeah, because there's only one brown car in the parking lot. That's a lot of help lady.

After getting my things out of my hospital room and taking a quick piss (id had a lot of orange juice that morning) I check out of the hospital and continue outside to the entrance of the building. Let's see... a brown car. I don't see one

(HONK!) This comes from a car pulling up rapidly to the entrance. It's brown. I guess it's my ride. But who is it. I'm still getting used to the condition of my right eye, so it's a little hard to make out who's driving.

The horn sounds again "EY! YOU! GET IN" This voice. Where have I heard it before? It's definitely not my dad, that's for sure.

"HEY IDIOT! DO I LOOK LIKE I HAVE ALL DAY? GET IN THE FUCKING CAR"

I guess this is my ride. I walk over to the car with my eyes on the ground. I'm looking at my shoes. Sort of observing them for some odd reason.

I pull open the handle and climb into the car. I turn my head to greet my driver, and its him. The one who caused this all, the reason for my right eye ball and brain damage. It's the burglar. Thick black greasy hair and all. I jump back a little.

"You? Wh- what are you doing here?" I'm stuttering out of fear.

"Oh you can't just be greatful can you?" He says, pulling a pack of fags out of his pocket.

"Are you .. Going to kill me?" I ask, feeling as though I'm going to regret it.

He just stares at me for a moment, before bursting out into the laughter id heard before when he was taking the keyboards.

"Bloody fucking pansy. No, unfortunately." This relives me, but not enough to cure me of the shaking.

"Than..Than wh- why are you here?" I stutter as he starts up the car.

"What does it look like I'm doing, writing poetry? I'm picking you up from the hospital you dolt."

Why the hell would he want to do that? If he wouldn't help me get out from under the car, why would he help me now?

"WH-why?" I ask.

He shoots me a dirty look, flashing some pointed jagged teethe.

"You do ask a lot of questions kid. Do you WANT to get killed?"

I shake my head furiously signaling the best no I can. "N-no mister..mister"

He sighs. "Its Murdoc Niccals. Your caretaker."

I raise an eyebrow. "Caretaker?"

He groans ,. "Yes. My sentence for almost killing your sorry arse was community service."

"And i'm community service?"

He takes in a deep drag.

"I didn't think you were THAT damaged. Sweet satin, can you not piece together common things? Yes to the judge, you were considered community service enough."

I sit for a moment. So he.. pardon me- Murdoc Niccals, is supposed to take care of me? Well that's hardly necessary, i'm not a baby…

"For how long?" I ask quietly.

He blows smoke into my face. "Too long faceache. Too long."


	2. 2: An Itchy Neck

**Chapter two: An Itchy Neck**

**NOTE: Hey :) I think I've fixed this, but it's an old chapter so gimme a break my auto correct sucks, and so does my spellchecker. :P Thanks!**

By the time I was only in the car for about five minutes, I wasn't sure I was going to get out in one piece. Or two for that matter.

This man, , is the most reckless driver ive ever seen in action. He's like something straight out of an action flick, almost rear ending every car we come across and always at least ten over the speed limit.

Every few seconds i feel a bump and almost fly out of my seat. Thank god for seatbelts. And on the topic of seatbelts, he's not even wearing his. I mean not like I haven't worn mine before, but you think someone would be able to tell when there that bad at driving, and that when they are they should at least wear a seatbelt.

I build up some courage. "Should you ... maybe ... be a bit more careful?"

He clocks me on the shoulder. Damn, he's strong. I can feel a bruise coming on. I've got to remember not to piss this guy off.

"I'm driving you dimwit, not fucking." He lets out a laugh. "Of course, then why would I give a shit anyway? Not my problem if the bitch gets knocked up." God, this guy has a sick sense of humor. And he's supposed to take care of me? Again, I'm not sure how that's possible. A silence goes on for quite a while, when I decide to break it.

"Stuart." I say

He raises an eyebrow. "Who's that your boyfriend?"

I shake my head, trying not to sound offended. "No ... im Stuart...and im not gay..."

"Really?" He asks, sounding mildly surprised. "Well, you certainly look it. You know, the blue hair and all."

I sulkily put my head down. "Do I really look that gay?"

He shrugs. "Well, I mean what kind of straight guy dyes his whole damn head? Really.."

I sigh. I've heard this lot actually. "I didn't dye it. It fell out and grew back this way."

He scoffs. "Is that the best lie your simple little mind can come up with?"

"Im not lying! It really did. I fell out of a tree .. and..and-"

He hits my shoulder again, and it begins to throb. "Just shut the fuck up. Your voice is really starting to get on my nerves."

I rub the spot where he hit me, and decide it's probably best to do what he says. My mind slips back to the topic of my eye. What will the women think? I mean, I look like some kind of spook, or ghost or something. At least half of me. Hold on a second.. where is he going? This isn't the way back to my parents house (not explaining that either) . Im going to have to ask him.

"Um.. where are we going?" I ask nervously.

"Back." He says shortly.

I scratch my head and turn to him. "Back where?"

"Shack, le Niccals. And what did I tell you about talking?" He says with a heap of agitation in his voice, that threatens I'm about to get hit.

"Why?" I ask.

He sighs. "Because the judge says have to babysit your damaged face or watch you or some shit for twenty hours a week."

A bit of fear jumps into my mind. "So ... im going to hang out with you?"

My fear was understandable, because he immediately puts the car to a stop and I jolt forward. He grabs me by the collar of my shirt and pulls me forward.

"Listen idiot. You're here TEMPORARILY. Your not to be telling people were "hanging out" together.. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?"

I nod skittishly. "Y-yes." I sink back into my seat. I'm not asking anymore questions, unless I want my neck to be broken. He starts up the car and lights up another cigarette. The foggy silhouette drifts into my nose. I could REALLY go for a cig right now.

But I'm sure as hell not asking hot head over here. And I don't mean that like he's HOT I mean it like he's hot headed. Dear god I sound awkward again. Sooner or later, after a quiet and very uncomfortable car ride, we pull into a parking lot of a rather scrappy looking parking lot in the middle of nowhere. And smack in the middle of this little lot, a boarded up little shack that looks as if it might have used to be a music store.

"How long do-"I begin to speak but he shoots me a dirty look, and I remember I'm forbidden to talk. Well that's hardly very gentleman like...I follow him into the cracking little shack, almost matching asphalt, crackling under my feet as I walk. We come to a blue door covered in chipping paint.

He buries his hands in his pocket fumbling around for something, while muttering numerous swears, until he pulls out a key. He turns it into the lock and the door opens to a three room world of disgustingness.

Everything is covered in filth. Rotten food, underwear, trash, booze, cigarette butts, everything disgusting under the sun has turned up under this guy's roof, and the smell of it all is floating in the air. I mean, my apartment isn't the star of cleanliness, but this is pretty rancid. I turn over to him, half expecting him to be a little disgusted, but he steps right in, without a second thought.

I follow, and the smell grows more intense. He sighs, scratches his arise, and slumps over to the fridge, swinging it open and grabbing a beer. And not offering his guest one of course. He opens it with a little _tick_ of the can opening and begins to chug.

"Well...this is-"Just as hes about to tell me something one of the doors leading to another messy room catapults open.

"Hello Murdoc." Ladies high voice calls softly from the dark room, and out comes a tall, busty woman with curly brown hair and tan skin. And this isn't the first thing I noticed, oh no. She's half naked, only sporting some sort of pink lingerie. And she's sporting it well alright. God, am I about to be aroused? Murdoc's eyes widen as he looks over to me with anger in those same widened eyes.

"Hold on love." He says to her quickly as he slams the door in her face. "Be there in a minute. Keep your knickers on. Or wait...Actually don't. Ha." He charges over to me and grabs me by my shirt collar, once again.

"WH-what are you doing?" I ask fearfully.

He drags me across the messy room, only to shove me to the ground into a dark closet.

"Touch my stuff, and ill smite you with all of hells fire, I swear it..." He slams the door the way he did to the lovely lady a few seconds ago. Hold on...

What the hell? Is this guy really keeping me in his closet so he can go fuck some broad? That's low. I stand up as best as I can, and try to turn the handle, but not surprisingly, it won't open. The bastards locked me in his closet that smells like some sort of mix of rotten cheese and shame.

"Let me out of here!" I yell, banging on the door. Till I realize I'm not getting out any time soon.

The noises begin. Her giggling. His laughing. And I'm not trying to be a creeper, but what else is there to do in here? So I listen in to what's going on.

"I waited for you ALL day ducky!" She says. Either that or she said something about a trucky. I can't tell, this closet is making things muffled. Oh, he's talking again.

"How did you get into my apartment?"

A soft bubbly giggle echoes into the closet. "Oh ducky, what does it matter?"

His deep raspy voice comes back, ruining my visions of these women in her trampy underoos.

"How long have you been here?"

Her voice swirls back under the door, thankfully. "Ducky." She says in a cute pouty sort of way. "I've been waiting a VERY long time."

He laughs, and I suddenly realize how small and tight this closet is. "Well... im not one to argue. We wouldn't want to keep you waiting any longer, would we?"

She laughs again, this time more feisty and sexy, sort of abandoning the cutsie tone and adopting a fiery sex kitten type one. "No. You wouldn't. You wouldn't like me when I've been kept waiting."

And on this last note of her flowery voice, I'm pretty sure they've gotten to it. And from the footstep patterns, I think their moving to the bedroom? No doubt in my mind now. They've gone at it.

And after seeing him, I'm sure she'll have to get herself checked. And than, the noises start. The banging of walls, floor rattling, and of course the innocent, but strong moan of the dame he's got in there. Than his begins. And it's disgusting. I'm not sure if I can handle this.

I cup my hands over my ears and grit my teeth, trying as hard as I can to take my mind off the situation I'm in right now. Stuck in a closet, in the middle of a dirty apartment. But I guess, it's not the first time this has happened.

High school, senior year, Gerald O'wiley's party. And from what I can remember, this was a damn wild party. Plenty of drunk women to go around, you know the typical highschool party. The kind your parents never let you go to, but ofcourse you went anyways.

But the reason this comes up, is because id gotten stuck in a closet than too. Don't quite remember how id gotten there though. All I know is it took me a hell of a long time to get out. But in the mean time, I just slept..

If there's one thing I'm really good at, it's napping. I wonder if they have an Olympic thing for that. But even something you're really good at can be disturbed. So in this case, my talent of sleeping is interrupted by what sounds like fighting. A door slams closed outside the closet.

"I can't BELIEVE YOU!" Sniffles the ladies voice.

"Yeah, neither can anybody else love." Murdoc says dully

"YOU SAID YOU WERE GOING TO MEET MY PARENTS!" She yells, changing her voice almost completely.

He chuckles. "Yeah, well I lied ."

A door opens harsly. "UGHH! YOU SOULLESS PIG!" And then the door slams, and the dames voice has left my ears.

"Crazy broad." He mumbles, and I think now is my chance to get out of here. Or at least I hope. So I tap my fist against the wood of the door.

"Let me out!" I say loudly, hoping he can hear me through this thick door. Propably the only door in good condition in the whole bloody apartment. Just my luck.

"Hm? Oh .. yeah I forgot about you." I hear footsteps, but they don't feel like their coming towards the closet. And then came the Bass It was him playing it though; it wasn't like on the radio like id thought it was on first.

But the shocking thing is it wasn't terrible. He was actually good at it. It took me a second to figure out what it was, but after listening for a second I realized it was the Bass line in David Bowie's _Ziggy Stardust_.

So he plays Bass. Yeah, well I play an instrument, that doesn't make it okay for me to lock people in my closet. So weather he's good at it or not, he needs to step up and let me out of this damn closet. So I knock again, in hopes to get out of here.

"Let me out of here!" I shout out of the closet, one more time hoping he'll listen.

He doesn't stop playing, but talks anyways. "Yes and why should I?"

"Because ... I don't know?" And I really can't think of a reason he'll believe.

He sighs through the heavy melody of strings. "Well that's not a good reason is it? No, I don't think I want to."

I groan. "Please?"

He sighs a heavier, angry sigh. "will you just shut the HELL UP?"

Than after a moment of my silence for the better, he begins to mutter. "Blithering idiots don't make it easy to start a fucking band."

Start a band? Not for him, no. Never. Im not trying to be pessimistic, but someone like him, so sour and cruel, could never achieve something like that. That dream is a star in the sky he's not going to catch. And it becomes clear, that im not leaving this closet anytime soon.

So I just listen in, on this music, and pray he's not going to try and add vocals. Im almost positive his vocals would make me want to crawl under a rock, or at least stay in this closet and plug my ears. But for now, my ears are fine, because his guitar playing is actually enjoyable.

But it sounds sort of out of place without vocals.. And so just to pass the time, and entertain myself, I begin to quietly sing along. Mumble singing the words of the song. Just out of boredom, You know.

_He bitched about his fans, and so they crushed his sweet hands_

By the time he's played a few more songs, thankfully not singing along to any of them, Everything is quiet. Even he is quiet. No cursing , no guitar. Just a still moment that seems rare in this mans clutches. Until he speaks. Quiet, but still raspily, and tired.

"Women. Their insane mate. Not right in the head."

"Can you let me out now blud?" I try, fiddling with a used match ive found on the floor.

He stops playing, and it sounds like he's set the guitar down. "If I let you out, will you stop that fucking whiny little voice your using?"

I raise an eyebrow, though he cant see me. " That's my normal voice."

"Than I guess your not coming out of there."

I sigh. "Okay. Just let me out, its dark in here!"

He laughs again, this time a bit less threatening.

"Coward." And I hear footsteps again, this time leading to the closet, where I am. Within a few seconds, a sliver of light takes me from the dark closet, and there he is, the man who's imprisoned me in this little shithole of a closet.

I stare at him awckwardly. I catch myself staring off into space a lot. It tends to cause trouble sometimes actually. He seems to notice this, and flashes his razory teethe at me in a grundgy frown.

"Well what are you looking at?"

I shrug, "Sorry. I stare a lot."

"Well don't." He retorts. "Its weird. With that eye and what not."

"Well that's not right, considering its your fault." Now that was a mistake, and if his hard fist flying into the side of my face, and knocking me back onto my arse isn't a clue, than I don't know what the hell is.

"Don't blame me for your own stupidity dentface." He growls, stalking back to the dirty couch, where he crashes down and begins to make decent music again. "I should lock you back in the closet where you belong..Ha."

I chuckle lightly. Even if the joke was about me, I get it, so It was still funny. Than it catches up to me.

I put my head down. "Im not a fag.." I say quietly.

"I didn't say you were."

I scratch my head. "Well..wait what? Im confused."

"Exactly." He says dully, not taking his head up from his instrument.

"What?" I cant see myself, but Im assuming that my cheeks are beginning to turn a lovley shade of carnation pink. "No, not about that…"

"About what?"

"My sexuality!" I reply.

He sighs. "Look, I don't like you that way fruity boy, so if you need to go find a gaybar or something.."

"I told you, im not gay!" I say, but he dosent sound very convinced.

"Than what were you confused about?"

"This situation."

"What situation?"

I sigh. "Nothing.. nevermind.." And I sink back into the dirty ground.

"whatever." He sighs. "Just don't come crying to me when your suddenly attracted to my handsomeness. Ill kick your arse."

I sigh and pick at a loose thread of carpet on the ground. "You wont need to."

"Good."

A few chords from somthing metaly ive never heard before are born from the Bass, and my head begins to hurt. I stuff my hand into my back pocket to see if ive got my pills, but i dont. Just a few coins and some lint.

Gah. I wonder if this guys got any. It cant hurt to ask.. or can it? Whatever, my head hurts.

"Got any advil?" I ask dully with my head burried tiredly into my hands.

"No." He grumbles. "Even if I did, no use wasting it on you."

_Oh, thanks_ my head replies to the insult, but I have a feeling ill be getting used to it soon enough.

I decide to make a bit of conversation. No use being _completely _bored. "Who was that woman?" I ask.

"Who cares?" He replies.

Well that didn't work. I'll try something else. "So you play bass?"

"What does it look like?" He says shortly. "Also, will you just shut that mouth of yours? Sweet Satan..."

So I just shrug, because I'm really not in the mood for a beating, sitting still on the dirty carpet, twiddling little strands of it between my fingers. And what do you know? Lucky me, what seemed like days later, were in the car, on the way back to my parents house that I still live in.

I guess I'm still young enough that it's not completely lame, but I'm going to have to get out soon before the women find out. I click a rusty seatbelt over my waste as he begins to drive carelessly.

But I didn't expect much more than careless driving really... But hold on, does this guy even know where I live? Maybe the nurse told him? I'll just have to ask I guess...

"Do you know where I-"

He twiddles a volume knob on the radio all the way up, tuning out my question. Something heavy and bang sounding busts its way out the speakers. Black Sabbath. I'm not even correct on the title, but I know it's them.

This kind of music doesn't really rub me the right way... Punk is always the way I've went. Talking heads, the human league, that sort of stuff's always been my cup of tea. Not this rubbish. But id sooner sticks my head in a steam vent than tell him to turn the radio down.

_Badada bum, clash clash clash_ Bunched together, groups of heavy clinked drums, and twanging guitar solos roll out the speakers knitting together in a metaly tune, that I'm still not able to make out. And though it seemed like years, the song ends and a squeaky women's voice introduces herself.

This is Sexilicious Samantha, poppin out those heavy tunes to crack your eardrums wiiide open boys! That was Black Sabbath- War pigs..

"Of course it was, you stupid bloody twat." Murdoc hisses at the woman on the radio. "I'm not daft, I know my music, now shut up."

Now that we've got all our headbangers settled back into setlist 66.6, lets discuss a topic we've been rather raw on latley. Pink on guys. Hardcore, or prissy?

"Oh shut up." He snaps.

"I didnt say anything!" I defend.

"Not you, the radio." He jams his fist into the face of the radio, in a failed atempt to turn it down.

Dave grohl..(Static...)...Pink could be sexy on some men... (Static)...a bit twee... (Static)

"Come on you stupid thing! Work damn it!" His assaults don't seem to be doing the radio any justice.

Static pours out the radio, mixed with little scraps of words. He's broken his radio, I'm sure of it. And if he hasn't, it's soon to be.

"You're going to kill it man." I tell him.

"Hush up; I know what I'm doing,"

I decide to try to use some of what I learned from my dad's mechanic skills. We usually just fix up Casio's, but this will have to do. I put my hand to the radio, and Murdoc slaps it away like a fly.

"Back off twit, you'll break it."

"Your bout to break it right now, simple as that." I warn him.

Without warning, or a turn signal for that matter. he jerks the car to the side of the road and stops.

"What are we doin over here for?" I ask, scratching me head.

Murdoc points a long finger out twords my window. "Look, Five pence."

I fold my arms. "Yeah so? No reason to get us killed."

He charges a fist twords the side of my arm, than stops for some reason, and sighs.

"Did i say five pence? Silly me. Looks like twenty pence."

I raise an eyebrow and strain my neck to search. "twenty pence? I dont see one."

"Its behind that trashcan. Go get it!"

I shrug, and pry open the door, slunking my way over to the trashcan, that i just now realize doesn't exist, and neither does the coin.

_He must mistake?_ I think, turning around to the car that isn't there, along with the trashcan and the coin. But the car was just there, the coin and the can didn't exist.

Halfway down the road, Murdoc shouts out the window of his car. "LATER, DUMB FUCK."

"There was no coin!" I shot back, hoping for him to turn around and notice his mistake, when it occurs to me that I've been fooled. The bloke tricked me.

The situation sinks in, along with it; a headache. But again, my pills aren't with me. And neither are my fags. That some damn good luck right there.

And to make this better? It's going to get dark soon, and I've got no ride. It's not that I mind being out after dark, I am all the time. But I think I'm supposed to go back to work tomorrow, and I'm tired. Well, hitchhiking will have to do that. I scoot to the side of the road and stick out my thumb, hoping for someone... well... not a serial killer to pick me up.

Maybe, eight or nine minutes go by before a green pickup pulls up in front of me.A window rolls and a woman's voice calls out.

"You don't look too creepy. A bit, but not too much." The girl cocks her head, sweeping deep mahogany hair down past her shoulders.

"Does that mean you'll give me a ride than?" I ask.

She rolls her eyes and clicks the door unlocked. "Yeah, I guess."

I answer this, with hopping into her car and closing the door. I turn to her. She's pretty. Not beautiful, but pretty. She might be beautiful, but there's something in her thin nose and over thickened, but thin lips that subtracts from that.

"Who are you then?" She asks.

"Stuart Pot." I answer. "You?"

"Paula cracker." She answers, a bit flatly. "Where you goin stu?"

I give her my address (she looks trusty enough) and she nods. "what's with the one eye?"

I repeat my mum's words. "Oh its still there, it just got.. well pushed back so you cant see it."

"How?"

"Car got rammed into my head."

She shakes her head. "I could lie better than that stu."

"No honest!" I say. "So this guy crashes his car into the shop i work in-"

"Uncle norms?" she asks, and i nod.

"Oh.. i heard about that! That was you?"

I nod. "Yeah, t'was."

"Dang.." She mutters. "You know I almost went in to look for some strings on that same day?"

"You play guitar?" I ask, honestly a bit interested.

"Lead." She replies. "You?"

"Keyboard."

The conversation lifts up somewhere into the topic of music, for fifteen or so minutes, when she pulls up in front of my parent's house.

"Take care of that eye idiot." She laughs. "Or don't."

"Ill tries. Thanks." I open the door and set out. The car pulls off.

She seemed nice. Does my neck itch? I feel around on the back of my neck, only to find a scrap of paper in my collar. How did she get it there without me noticing? I really must be a dolt. A number stands out on the scrap of paper. A PHONE number.

_Well__..._ I think to myself letting out a little laugh. _I know what I'm doing this weekend._


	3. 3: Empty Band, Empty Promises

**Chapter three: Empty Band, Empty Promises**

Your mum waking you up to tell you she's just cooked you some breakfast isn't as great as it sounds. Especially when you're out of highschool, and restless to find something new. Living with no bills, and free food isn't all it's cracked up to be, if it means living with your parents.

Living with your parent's means, bringing girls back there is out of the question. Been having to go over to Paula's lately, just telling her that my apartment is being gassed for termites.

Oh, yeah I guess I should explain the Paula thing now. It's been, a month I think, more or less, since Murdoc flipped me over to the side of the road, leaving me for road kill, only to get picked up by Paula cracker, who I ended up calling the next day.

That telephone call though, was hard to make. The idea popped into my head while dialing the phone that it might have been Murdoc who put the number in my collar? I could just imagine that conversation...

_That awkward phone call that could have taken place:_

_Me: Hello? Is this Paula?_

_Murdoc: Paula? No, who the blazes is this?_

_Me: Oh__...__ sorry-_

_Murdoc: Is this that sorry ass idiot I have to watch?_

_Me: Um... no. This is__...__ Lagazinez..._

_Murdoc: Lagazinez? What kind of shit name is that?_

_Me: Err__...__My name?_

_Murdoc: And a shitty name it is. _

_Me: Okay__...__ ill just be going than.._

_Murdoc: This IS that Stuart fuckface isn't it?_

_Me: No, this is Lagazinez..._

_Murdoc: Stuart I'm going to kick you're arse so far into the dirt you'll be shitting worms for a month-_

_Me:This isnt stuart! But if it was.. Why did you put your number in his collar?_

_Murdoc: If you were a lagazinez, how would you know i put my number in his collar?_

_Me: Aha! So you DID put your number in my collar- Er.. Stuarts collar.._

_Murdoc: Right, im kicking your ass you little punk._

But Thankfuly, Paula answered..and one thing led to another.. and i guess now you could say were.. well.. she's my girlfriend. And i really do like her.. i dont know if i love her yet..

But enough on this topic, im starving. I exit the same bedroom ive had my whole life, and enter the small living area my mother's tried to home up as best she can..

I scratch my head and look around. "Mum? Dad?"

And looks like they're not here... Wow I'm an idiot. My mum's a nurse, so she must be on call. No idea in hell where dad could be... But either way, I'm about ready to chow down on the living room sofa, so I might as well check out the kitchen.

And after raiding most the fridge, it appears obvious that the family fairground hasn't been doing so well, and that mum hasn't been paid in a bit, because all that's there is the same that's been there for the past couple of weeks; Leftovers, butter, milk, stale bread, I could go on.

_*HONK* "_HEY, HURRY UP IVE GOT STUFF TO DO." Looks like Murdoc's here to pick me up for my daily torture. I sigh, and try to rub the tired away from my eyes, shutting the fridge and setting out into the bitter September air, a dead little leaf fainting right nicely onto the tip of my nose. I brush it away, and approach the car.

Murdoc turns his head to me, and flashes me a surprised look, that quickly rots into anger.

"What in satins name do you think you're doing boy?"

I shrug. "Getting in the car."

"Not like that you're not, where you think we're going?" He hisses. "A men's bathhouse? NO!"

I cock my head. "What are you talking abou-" And apparently, my nap has left me in a state of idiotic confusion, because I'm wearing nothing but underwear.

My feet take me as fast as I can to the front door, where my hands scramble madly at a handle that refuses to budge.

"OY! WHAT'S TAKING SO LONG?" Murdoc shouts at me.

"It won't unlock!"

"You've locked yourself out of your own house?"

I turn back and nod at him. A few silent seconds past before he bursts into a fit of cruel laughter.

"In your underpants?" He laughs. "You dolt, just pick the fucking lock."

"Its pickproof!" I retort, and not five seconds later does a beer bottle whiz through my living room window, hard enough to shatter most of the glass.

I turn back to see Murdoc idly drumming his fingers on the side of his car, looking completley innocent.

"You can't just go breaking my windows!" I complain.

"Your window isn't the only thing I'll break face ache." He growls.

My fear of getting my neck shattered in six different places, mixed with the embarrassment of standing here in my underoos, tells me I'd better just find a way to get in the house.

"But what if I cut myself on the glass?" I ask.

"Than you'll bleed to death, no big deal."

"But-"

He sighs. "Listen, enough of it's broken off on the bottom that if you be careful, you'll most likely be fine."

I shrug, and walk over to the broken window, avoiding the shattered glass on the ground, and carefully climbing my way through, escaping with a few Knicks on my arm and foot.

After getting dressed ( and being sure to grab my cigarettes and pills this time), I head back out the front door, attempting to climb into the front, but being stopped by Murdoc.

"Not so fast tweedle dumb, you get in back."

"Why, there's no one up here!" I protest.

"There will be, I'm picking up some fellows to assist me with... a meeting."

I groan, and slump into the rank backseat of Murdoc's car. Feeling like a seven year old again.

"Where are we going today?" I ask, a bit interested.

I'll have to admit this whole thing has been more interesting than just sitting about watching old cartoons, or working. But I got fired anyway. Or let go, for being mentally unable to work. Whatever that is, they probably just thought I looked too creepy with my eye and junk.

"IM going to a...erm... meets. You're staying in the car. You'll just muck things up."

"Why do you need buddies for a meeting?" I ask.

"Very well, none of your business." And on this snarky reply, he cranks up the radio and tunes me out again, until he turns it down again when we pull up in front of a bar with a Flashing neon sign, drawling in drunks and slags.

"Where are these idiots?" He mutters, rolling down the window.

"ROLMAN! NICK! GET YOUR DRUNK FACES OVER HERE!" He shouts over a dark parking lot, bringing over two shadowy figures, one tall and built, the other short and fat.

"I get the front this time eh nick?" Suggests a small grimy voice, coming from the little fat guy with a short hokey nose and thin eyes.

"Not on your life you little grease bucket." The other tall man, who must be nick, tells him, claiming the front as his own, and patting Murdoc on the back.

"OY Murdoc! You ready's make a deal?"

"Shut up you galoot, we got company." Murdoc growls, gesturing towards me.

"Who's this ill runt?" The Fat guy, who must be Rolman, says getting in the back next to me.

"I know him! This is the guy you ran down, eh murdoc?" Nick says, starting up a laugh like a sputtery engine. "That was a helluvah show."

"You were there?" I ask.

"Damn right we was, you flew like one a them gulls!" Roman says, elbowing me in the ribcage.

"These idiots just decided to book like a couple of pansies when they figured we hit you. I, of course went straight for the merchandise." Murdoc explains.

"Now can it dent face."

"Lot uglier when he's breathin id say." Nick laughs, turning to Murdoc "Why you got him with ya doc?"

"My sentence was taking care of this fool." Murdoc replies dully. "Can you believe that shit?"

They agree with car horn laughter, and the picking on me continues, with several pinches and flicks, until the car pulls around into a dark sketchy alley, strewn with trash and graffiti. Looks like a nice place to kick back, but not today. It seems Murdoc's on business.

"Right then." Murdoc says, swiveling his eyes between his two cronies. "You blokes ready?"

They nod in agreance, and the three of them get out of the car, to walk a few feet and be greeted by a tan man in aviators and a Hawaiian shirt. The man smiles and leads them all into a heavily damaged door.

_Great, Now I'm bored_ I think to myself, sinking my head into my hands. _Anything to do in here? _

Desperate for something to do, I begin to dig around on the grimy floor for something to do. After retreating something thin and plastic, my hands come up holding one of those dashboard hula dancers, and finger nails filled even more than they already were with dirt. This will have to do.

Maybe twenty minutes later, after flicking the little dancer girl back and forth probably more than five hundred times, A loud bang erupts somewhere inside the building.

Oh god he's been shot. Is the first thing that pops into my head? How will I get out of here?

A few more shots go off, and the door flies open, Murdoc and his goons flying out the door.

Murdoc, a large brown paper bag clutched in his arms, looks back at Rolman, who's lagging behind on short sow legs.

"ROLMAN, YOU FAT COW HURRY UP, IM NOT WAITING!" Murdoc snaps at him, as the door swings open again, to reveal the same man in the aviators from before, looking less than pleased. The gun in his hand, sort of adds to this.

Murdoc and the others cram back into the car quickly, leaving no time for chatter. Murdoc starts up the car, and hightails it out of there, leaving the aviator man in the dust with his gun, firing several more shots, all of which digging somewhere into the car, but thankfully missing the inside.

"Sweet Satan..." Murdoc pants heavily. "Its damn crazy how hyped up some will get over a couple's sixty sacks of Mary Jane."

"You sure showed him Murdoc!" Laughs Rolman. "You shoulda seen his face!"

"Yeah yeah, well I am great, we all know that." Murdoc says, swelling with pride.

"How much d' we get?" Nick asks.

"For me to know and you to shut your mouth." Murdoc replies sourly.

Nick shrugs. "Alright, whatever take me and rolman to the velvet roadhouse. We's gonna get some dances from that new lady they got there."

"Had her." Murdoc says flatly. "Not as good as she looks, mate."

"I've been tryin for months, how the fuck did you get her?" Rolman complains.

"Simple. I'm extremely sexy, charming, and cunning." Murdoc says. "You, on the other hand, are not my friend."

"I am too!" Rolman argues. "Just look at all this!" He gestures to his fat little body.

Ignoring this comment, Murdoc pulls up in a rather large parking lot of some strip joint, where the sound of a roaring engine fills my ears, soon to be joined by the sight of a Red Chrysler shredding pavement to the cheers of several voices.

"Lloyds here again." Nick mutters bitterly. "I hate Lloyd."

"You gonna give him what for doc?" Rolman persuades.

Murdoc twiddles a match between his yellow blades of teethe. "Hell yeah i am."

He rev's up the engine, and i know this cant be good.

"Boys." murdoc says. "Hold onto your hats.

And im still hanging on that word when murdoc rips into the parking lot, tearing rubber, and turning abruptly every few seconds. The speed seems to rise every half a second. And though it feels like im soon to die, this is the most dangerous situation ive been in for months, and it kind of feels awsome.

The second car amps up its tricks and raises its speed, ripping around like a maniac.

"Lloyds beating ya man!" Nick cheers on. "FASTER!"

Murdoc raises his speed and tears corners like thin paper, spinning the stearing wheel manicly.

The crowd cheers for Murdoc, and the other car amps up its speed to try to beat him, pulling closer to us.

"This twit's gonna be sorry." Murdoc says, and rips towards him, making the other car spin out to the side. And it's clear Murdoc's won.

"Victory lap!" Rolman chants and Murdoc rips around one more time, when nick interrupts his victory.

"Look!" He points out the window to a woman, lifting her shirt to show a pair of a few GIGANTIC tits, as an award for Murdoc's win.

To get a better view, Murdoc slows down a bit. Or ALOT. Faster than I can think, the car come to a quick stop. But I don't. Everything seems almost like slow motion, and I fly forward from the backseat, up through the front, and my head crashes through the windscreen, throwing me about fifteen feet forward, skidding my knees onto the sidewalk, and than face down.

The pain in my other eye, the one that hasn't been popped back yet, strikes, and it's obvious that it's just been sent back and fractured to match the other one. But surprisingly, as I get up and stand, I don't feel as much pain as I thought I would.

It hurts like a bitch, but nothing feels broken. And on the ground, sitting perfectly still, are my two front teeth in a little pool of my own blood. Then, like a bullet, the pain in my left eye lights up like a match. Stinging and aching with everything it's got.

I turn around slowly to see Murdoc standing there, and just staring at me with that creepy red eye, glowing like a ruby in his skull cavatie.

I ignore the pain in my knees and left eye the best I can, and begin to walk twords him, the car, and those other two idiots just looking at me to. Along with the rest of the crowd, who stay silent? Eventually, I'm facing Murdoc. I point to my other eye.

"Did the other one go back?" I ask, pulling down my eyelid. He just stares at me, his mouth hung open like a drawer.

"My teeth! There gone! I say through my hand over my mouth. He just stands there, looking like he saw a ghost.

"I'm the one who just flew through a bloody windscreen, what's wrong with you?"

He grabs for my shoulder, and I flinch back; sure he was going to murder me for breaking his windscreen. But he just grabs it, and shoves me into the front seat of his car, slamming the door behind me. Something's not right.

He joins me in the car on the driver's side, and shuts the door, pulling out of the busy parking lot, where the crowd just stares silently.

"Erm, what are we doing?" I ask.

He looks over at me; with a half exited look on his face. "You said you played keyboard right?"

My bony fingers drum over the keys of a shiny new Casio, finishing the last few notes of the keyboard version of _Dancing with Myself by Generation X._ I turn around to see Murdoc rubbing his hands together with a fiendish look painted across his face.

I sigh, and dig a few pills out of my pocket, cramming them into my mouth and dry swallowing them. "Alright, what's going on now?" I ask.

"Quiet, I'm looking for something." He grumbles, searching wildly though one of his junk piles.

"Aha!" He pulls a shiny black guitar pick out of the pile and stands up.

"Okay, so umm... what?" I ask.

"Dent face." He begins. "Welcome to my band."

I shrug. "Wait, what band?"

He looks down as if to think, than puts his head back up. "Not titled yet. That doesn't matter."

He begins to pace the room. "What does matter is that, I've got my singer slash keyboardist. Thank Satan."

"Wait..." I begin. "You don't know if I can sing!"

He chuckles to himself. "Sure do, heard you singing in the closet. Kind of creepy, but you've got a nice voice mate."

Embarrassment floods a slight pink into my cheeks. _Oh really__..._ I think to myself. _Well fuck you for listening_

"I was not!" I defend. "I was humming... out of boredness."

He shakes his head. "Oh whatever."

"So why me?" I ask.

He puts a forefinger to his thumb. "Well, your a decent singer, keyboardest..." Than he trails off and glowers his eyes.

"And youve got a good look. Big black golfballs for eyes, spikey blue hair, the ladies will eat you up!"

I think that's the first time he's ever given me anything like a compliment.

"But what if I don't want to be in a band?"

His generosity quickly fades, and an angry look masks across his face. He jabs his finger into my chest.

"Its not YOUR choice."

"So I'm just being forced?"

He nods, and pulls out his Bass, strumming a few chords.

I sigh. "Do we even have a lead guitarist? Or a drummer?" The use of the word "we" was probably a mistake.

He looks down dully. "Well... I'm picking up the drummer tomorrow... I just need a lead guitarist."

I swivel back around in my chair and tap my finger on a key. "I know a lead guitarist..." I mutter,

I'm facing the keyboard, so I can't see him, but I can almost feel his widened eyes darting me down.

"What did you say?"

I speak up a bit, and turn around. "I know one. She's good."

He takes a hold of my shoulders and begins to shake me back and forth. "TELL ME WHO! SPIT IT OUT FACEACHE"

"She's..." My voice drawls as I begin to regret telling him. "She's kind of my girlfriend."

Murdoc groans end elbows me in the side. "You don't take your GIRLFRIEND into the band! SHEL SCREW UP THE WHOLE THING!"

"Alright alright!" I try to calm him down. "So she's... not really that much of my girlfriend..." That was sort of a lie.

"What? Like, just shagged her a few times?"

I nod sheepishly.

He sighs. "Just because you've shagged a chick a few times doesn't mean your soul mates dullard. Is she hot?"

I nod, though he's starting to piss me off a bit. "Yeah, she's real pretty."

"Whatever." He says. "Talk to her later, wave got to practice now."

I look at a shattered clock in the corner, and then back to him. "But...it's almost time for me to leave."

"Think of this as..." He shutters. "An extended visit."

. "Whatever you say." I shrug, realizing too late that this means I've just sort of sold my soul to him. Sold my soul to this band. And getting out isn't going to be easy. But... maybe it won't be so bad?


	4. 4: Sticky sheets Behind Door Three

**Chapter 4: Sticky sheets, behind door two.**

Is there a keyboard on my face? Oh no, my face is on the keyboard. Looks like I've fallen asleep practicing. Shit. I've got to get out of here before Murdoc finds out I fell asleep here. Sweat sticks to the keys as I pull my face up, and turn to check the time on a cracked alarm clock in the corner. Three o' six.

"Jesus." I mutter to myself, trying to shake off my tiredness. It doesn't work. And on another note, I have to pee.

_Where'd Murdoc go?_ I ask myself, and decide that he's probably crashed somewhere I can't see, and using the bathroom quickly might be fine.

Let's see I think. Three doors here. Which ones the bathroom?

I sort of build a little puzzle of this. Alright, so I know the one on the right must be his bedroom. Seen him take allot of women in there. And the one on the left is the closet. I know this, because he's trapped me in there loads of times in the last month or so. So this middle one must be the bathroom? I'll take a chance with this...

A game show host voice enters my head. Alright Stuart, you've picked door 2, let's see what you've won!

Slowly, and dizzily, I walk over to the door I've picked, twisting the knob with tired hands. Let's see if I win.

And I really feel like an idiot, because I should have noticed the light under the crack of the door. Murdoc's in there, with a playboy in hand. And he's sure as hell not pissing. I slam the door as fast as it was opened and spill out apologies, running for the front door.

"SORRY SORRY!" I shout, my face reddening with every stupid step I stumble. I fly out the front door and the rubber on my shoes skids across hard pavement, taking me nowhere particular but away from there. I mean really, I'm half expecting him to jump out the door, knickers around his ankles, ready to beat me with a rolled up playboy.

When it seems I'm far enough away, I stop running like a maniac, and realize I have no idea in hell where I am. Or for that matter, how do get home from here. Busses, as continent as they can be, probably don't run at three whatever in the morning.

My second option? Hitchhiking. Again. Jesus, I really hope this doesn't become a habit. I dig into my pocket, pulling out a cigarette and a couple pills, swallowing the pills, and lighting up the cigarette with a stray match. I take in a heap of smoke and stick my thumb out. Let's see where life takes me today.

I hate walking places. Allot. Well, I did end up getting a ride, but the bloke that gave it to me was real creepy, so I had him drop me off like a block from my house. But I'd rather be a little more tired than end up in a ditch somewhere. The cold air of autumn sinks into my brain, and makes me remember what's just happened fifty minutes ago.

I've just walked in on Murdoc jerking off. I shudder to myself. And I'm going to have to pay for it.

Why wouldn't he lock the door though? Really... Maybe he thought id left... And anyway, he's had no trouble getting a woman before now, why couldn't he just go find a slag somewhere? He was too tired maybe? Gross, why am I even still thinking about this? Forgetting will do.

I stop in front of my house and gaze at the shattered window, which is now masked in layers of gray duct tape. Damn it, now I'm going to have to explain that too. Or just lie.

I approach the front door and knock a few times. No answer. Then again.

"Who is it?" My Dads says groggily.

"Me." I announce.

I hear him yawn loudly through the door. "Who is me?"

"Can you really not recognize me?" I scratch my head. "I didn't think you would be that tired.

"That would be a Stuart response." He laughs, and opens the door only to gape at me in shock.

"What'd you do to your other eye boy?"

"I fell out a car."

"Let me get your mother down here-" He says. "Rachel!"

"New, don't wake her up, I'm fine." I tell him.

He shrugs and tousles the brown hair on his head. "Where you been stu? Had your mum worried sick."

"I... erm... fell asleep." I tell him.

He smiles. "That new girls place, eh?"

I nod, and decide just to lie. I don't think he'd find the real story amusing.

"Well, I'm off to bed." I say.

"Don't you want to tell Rachel your home?" He asks.

A light behind me flickers on, and I know my mum is awake.

"Stuart Harold Pot!" She scolds. "Just because your over eighteen, doesn't mean you can come home at any hour you want without letting me and your father know-"

"Sorry mum." I apologize, turning around. Being my mother, her reactions allot different than my dad. Her hands clasp over her mouth as she lets out a worried gasp.

"What on earth?" she mutters. "How- what?" She removes her hands from her mouth and begins to feel around the skin outside my left eye.

"He flew out that mild rick fellow's car!" My dad tells her from behind me.

Her eyes widen fiercely as she turns a bright color of red. "He- WHAT?"

I let out a sad and tired sigh. "I don't want to talk about it. Can we do this tomorrow?"

"You can wait to sleep; I need to check your eye out, honey." Taking my hand with her small one, she leads me off to the bathroom, sitting me down on the toilet cover.

She flings the cabinet open, pulling out her nurse medical supplies type things. She picks up a small flashlight and shines it into my black hole of a left eye.

She sighs. "How badly does it hurt?"

It seems every time someone reminds me about it, it starts to hurt more, so of course now it's throbbing like a bitch.

"Allot." I mutter, putting my hand up to it. She brushes it away.

"Don't touch it baby." she says sweetly, but scolding.

After a bit of her famous motherly examining, she looks me in the eyes with a stressed look painted on her tired face.

"Well, there's not much more we can do."

"You mean I'm going to DIE!?" I shout, backing up into the toilet.

She laughs sadly. "No, no of course not Stuart you silly boy. I mean we'll just have to call it a night."

I realize than, I haven't seen myself yet since today's accident.

"I want to see it." I say quietly.

"No stu-"

"Why?" I ask.

She sighs. "It's late. You-"

"Because I'm ugly?" I ask. She looks at me like I've broken her heart in two.

"Of course not."

"I want to look!" I say, getting up and looking into the mirror despite her pulling back.

A guy with no eyes and a black space where his front teeth should be looks back at me. Two dents in his head stand out in the reflection, along with several scratches and developing bruises. And it's me.

"I look disgusting." Mum hits me in the side of the arm for this and turns me around by my arms.

"Don't you ever say that stu?" Her eyes begin to water a bit.

"See, now I've made you cry with my terrible face."

She frowns angrily. "Stuart, you're a different boy. That's good! It's attractive to a lot of young women!"

"Like who, medusa?" I ask.

"Stuart." She warns.

"Yes, I know, I know."

She huffs out and stares up at me, the anger fading away.

I sigh and lean down to kiss her on the cheek. "Thanks for the help. I'm going to bed. Love you."

I begin to walk out the bathroom door when she grabs my shoulder.

"You're a beautiful boy, baby."

Oh, now here comes the drama. Thanks mum.

I smile. "Yeah... thanks. Love you."

"Love you too sweetie."

I really need to get a place of my own. The walk to my bedroom goes uninterrupted, thankfully. I thought I'd have to go through a few more obstacles, like me mother crying, or my dad yelling at me for making my mother cry.

But no, I just walk into the same bedroom I've had as long as I can remember. Blue walls, wooden floor. Crammed with the things ive collected through the years, which is mostly just junk strewn about the floor. But I make my way through it, and flop onto the bed that my feet stick out at the end of; flipping offs my shoes to drown myself in an ocean of blankets.

And it almost seems as I close my eyes, I can hear a voice in the hallway saying _he really is a beautiful boy._ Oh god mum.

Three doors. Three doors stand out on a brightly colored stage, lit by a flashing neon sign reading _Pick That Door!_ I stand behind a wooden podium surrounded by cheering and applause. Where the hell am I? A man with a microphone and a bad overcome steps out and flashes a cheesy smile.

"Welcome back to-"

"PICK THAT DOOR" the audience joins in with him.

He chuckles and puts a hand on his hip. "Were back, with Stuart, who was just about to pick his door."

"I was?" I ask stupidly, and the audience laughs as though it was a joke. I don't think I'll tell them it's not.

"Of course you were son!" The man laughs. "You know the rules. Pick door one, two, or three, and win that prize!"

"S, all I have to do?" I scratch my head. "I don't have to balance anything on my head, or spin a wheel, or answer a question?"

"Nope."

"That stupid."

The man's smile quickly thunders into an annoyed frown. "Kid, just pick a door."

I frown. "But-"

"JUST PICK A DOOR!" he shouts, and I shrug, putting a finger to my chin. Which one looks good? Guess I'll just go with...

"Three?" I answer.

The studio is quiet, until the clack of heels on linoleum stage brings out a tall blonde in a red mini dress. The usual type they use in game shows.

"Stuart's Picked door three Loraine!" The man chants, pointing his finger. "Show him what he's won!"

Lorraine flashes a plastic smile and twists her fingers with long red nails to match her dress, on the doorknob of door three. Behind the slab of polished wood, stands Paula, twisting her mahogany hair in one hand, and holding an eggplant, for some odd reason in the other. She smiles her oddly shaped, but enticing lips at me.

"Congratulations!" The host pipes up. "You've won your new girlfriend, and a homegrown organic eggplant!"

"Awhh. I wanted a new TV. Or a car." I whine.

The audience gasps, and the host turns to me. "You're unhappy with your winnings?"

I cross my arms and nod, which causes Paula to sneer at me.

The Host smiles and shrugs. "Oh fuck it, let him pick another door Loraine."

"Door two!" I shout excitedly, hoping for a vespa, or something cool like that.

"Door two, Lorraine!" The host repeats.

Lorraine nods, and opens door two. It swings open slowly to reveal, what I least expected. Murdoc, standing there, holding not an eggplant, but a zucchini. Oh, wait, that's not a zucchini. And to add to the fact, he's completely naked.

"Congratulations, you've won a masturbating Satanist that smells like a sweaty stripper's thong!"

I cock my head, looking at my two choices. My girlfriend or Murdoc? This choice should be clear... but honestly... It's not.

"So what will it be son?" The host clarifies. "Your girlfriend, or your... er...friend, thingy?"

"Oh, were more than friends." Murdoc Raspily pipes up, stepping out of the door. "Aren't we stu?"

I don't answer. But instead answer the host's question.

"Ill takes door two." And I don't know why I've answered that, but I did.

Paula's door closes up, and she's pulled away by one of the Daleks from doctor who.

"WOMAN, COME WITH US." The dalek bleakly says as it drags her away. I laugh histaricly.

"Well, come claim your prize." The host says.

"Yeah." Murdoc calls out. "Come claim your prize."

I walk down to the floor where he's standing seductively, awaiting my arrival.

"So... what am i supposed to do with you?" I ask him. "I mean, you don't like anything I want to-"

"shh." he puts his finger to the tip of my lips. "Ill show you."

He pulls his finger down, only to replace it by the impulsive touch of his own dry lips, that feel somehow soft, and pushes in his long tongue, almost gagging me. He pulls free within sometime.

"You look..Sweaty." He mutters, eyeing me down.

"Take his shirt off!" A woman from the croud shouts.

"I know." He hisses back, as he begins to pull my shirt over my head, making him seem to disappear for a second, only to return right back into my vision. I speed things up by taking off my own pants, and dropping them carelessly to the floor.

"Come on." He laughs, lowering his teeth to my neck, beginning to sting softly like a bee. "Drop the panties, come on that."

I push him back lightly. "Shouldn't we be somewhere... more private?"

He sighs. "There's no one here." I look around to see he's right. The studio is completely open.

"Alright, drop em." I do as he says, so I'm wearing no more clothing than he is.

All is quiet, when I shatter the silence. "What do we do now?"

The corners of his mouth twist into a devilish grin. "Bend over."

A shout erupts from my dry throat as I burst out from an unpleasant dream. Oh TELL me the dream is over! I look around to see my same old room thankfully. I've just woken from the worst dream I think I've ever had.

_"_What the fuck?" I mutter to myself. _Am I a faggot? No. NO. no no._

I can't control what I dream! I like women!

"Stuart!" Mum calls from the kitchen. "Come eat, wont you hon. that terrible man is going to be here in like an hour."

I sigh, and try as hard as I can to just let this go for now. I move my legs to the edge of the bed, sitting up. Only to notice that I've got a bit of a tent this morning. And the sheets are sticky. Oh _Jesus_.


	5. 5: Raunchy Dreams, Hold The Zucchini

Chapter 5:** Raunchy Dreams Hold the Zucchini's**

I've never liked to dream much. Sure, they're not bad... The good dreams, I mean. You know, the ones where you've won all the cash in the world, or you can fly to the roof tops or on some of the seedier nights, shag the girl of your dreams and not on ANY circumstance, or seedy night, shag your guy friend, who's barely even your friend at all.

Mum drops a piece of toast on a fake, plastic china plate in front of me. She knows I'm too clumsy for real glass. I stare off out the kitchen window without touching it.

"Whets the matter Stu?" Mum rests her hand on my shoulder. "Eat! Come on, that... mildrick guy is going to be here soon, and lord knows he doesn't feed you-"

Dad looks up from his paper across the table. "I think its Maudreck, Hon."

"Murdoc." I mutter tiredly. "His names Murdoc and I'm not hungry.

Mum looks me in the eye suspiciously. "Why?"

I shrug. "I don't know, that's what his mum wanted to name him."

She shakes her head. "No, you silly boy, why aren't you hungry? You're always hungry..."

I yawn and place my head in a pair of tired hands. "It's too early."

"It's never too early for breakfast Stuart." Dad tells me. "That's why its breakfast, you eat it in the morning."

All the while, my parents fuss on about breakfast, and the golden reasons why I should be eating, while last night's head shoe burns in my brain. I mean... It's not like this hasn't happened before... But usually with women! Even Paula once... Never a dude...

"David, he's not listening again."

Dad sighs. "Stuart, would you get your blue head out of the clouds and listen to your mother?"

"Sorry mum."

Mum pats me on the head as she walks by to bring dad more coffee. "Fine baby, just eat."

I do as she says, shoving a slice of toast into my mouth. Don't want her worrying, now do I?

She hurries back over to the fridge excitedly. "David, I've got your favorite for tonight!"

"What would that be?" dad asks.

She grins and pulls a green rod of a vegetable out of the fridge. "I'm going to make zucchini salad!"

My own thoughts from last night's dream pop into my skull.

Murdoc, standing there, holding not an eggplant, but a zucchini. Oh, wait, that's not a zucchini.

Surprisingly, I'm not hungry anymore and I set down the remnants of my toast as mum begins to walk off to my bedroom door.

"Mum? What are you going in there for?"

"Laundry." She says.

MY SHEETS! My head screams at me. SHE'L SEE MY SHEETS FOR THE LOVE OF GOD GO GETS THEM!

Nearly knocking over the chair, I spring up and sprint down the hallway, getting to the front of my door and blocking it. She raises an eyebrow at me.

"Move hon. I've got to do laundry."

I begin to stall as a bead of sweat makes its way down my nervous head. "Don't you have work today?"

She shakes her head. "It's my day off. You know that!" She grabs for the handle and trys to move past me. I stand strong.

"Stuart, will you please move? Spending an hour trying to make you move so I can pick up your dirty clothes isn't my idea of a leisurely day off you known."

"Ill cleans it! Why don't you go watch your soaps?"

She rolls her eyes. "You should know already, the old and the young don't start until twelve."

Then, I remember something she can't resist. Cooking for her son.

"Err... mum am still hungry. Could you make me something?"

"a-HA!" she laughs. "See, I knew you were hungry. But I'm getting to laundry after this..." And on that, she walks back to the kitchen. I let out a sigh of relief, and quickly retrieve my sticky sheets, hurrying off to the laundry room to shove them into the washing machine.

Done. That could have been bad. And it only makes it so much worse to think of WHY those sheets were sticky. Gah! I'm supposed to be forgetting this damn it. But-

HONKKKKK! HONKKK!

I shouldn't strain myself wondering who this is. I walk out to the entry way to find my mother scurrying to find me.

"Stu, he's here." She sighs, and walks over, grabbing my head and kissing me in several different spots on my face.

"You be careful, and if he gives you any trouble-"

"Tell the police, I know mum."

She smiles and gives me a little shove. "Alright go, I don't want him bothering the neighbors."

"Bye, love you guys." I walk out the door and their goodbyes aren't much different than mine. There he is him and that car. The one I've beaten death in more than twice, so what should make today any different? But it's not death I'm worried about.

"OY! 2 DENT! GET THE FUCK OVER HERE." He shouts from the window. Thankfully, this time im wearing clothes, ive got my cigarettes and pills, and I'm completely ready... except for the fact of how damn awkward this is going to be. But it's not like he knows... Without hesitation, I make my way over to his car, and jump in like any other day. I pull a pack of cigarettes out of my pocket, and join him in a smoke.

"I found a drummer." He takes a drag.

"Who?" I ask. He looks up as though to remember, snapping his long fingers.

"Shit, I can't remember. He's a big fellow though, so it won't be easy to get him."

"What do you mean by that?" I ask. Murdoc laughs.

"What'd you think we were just asking him? We're going to have to drag him out of there...literally."

I scratch my head. "Why CANT we just ask him?"

He sighs. "You've got a lot to learn about bands kid. People won't just JOIN a band. Most often, when you want someone good, you've got to drag them out by their tails."

"What if they don't have tails?"

"Than their feet, don't contradict me you twit." He hisses.

I shrug. "So... what were just kidnapping him?"

He shrugs. "Think of him as a... prize for me being a badass."

"Well, come claim your prize." The host says.

"Yeah." Murdoc calls out. "Come claim your prize."

I obey the impulse to smack the side of my head, as if to push the dream out. Murdoc gives me a strange eye.

"If that's some new kind of self punishment, it's stupid." I shake my head.

"There was a ... fly."

At this moment, and I don't know why now, but I remember where I was last night. I fucking walked in on Murdoc jacking off. Why is he not beating my ass? Maybe he didn't see me? That's possible, it was late…

"Where is he?" I ask.

"Some music store..."

Stumbling foolishly on what to say next, I leave it at that and melt in the awkwardness, and memory of what went on last night, and what I dreamt of afterwards. In fact, my forehead begins to clam up.

Murdoc clocks me in the side of the cheek, for no reason at all.

"What was that for?"

"You're acting weird." He sneers. "Don't act weird in my car, ill slam your ass out that window. You'll be growing rather close with the concrete, blud."

On his last word, a gleek of spit flies out his mouth to the top of my eyelid. I wipe it off.

"You just spit in my eye."

He shrugs.

"Maybe I meant for it. Now shut up, and stop acting weird."

I wonder if this is some twisted way of asking what's wrong. I can't tell him... what am I supposed to say?

Hey man, guess what? I had a weird dream last night... and you road me like a fucking horse. Neat huh?

No, I suppose that wouldn't work though, would it? Damn right it wouldn't. But it's just... when something's bothering you like this, annoying you really... it just bites, and bites at you... and when you forget about it for a few moments, and enjoy the luxury of peace, it comes right back around a chomps you straight in the ass, and your face gets red, and you go quiet again. Just as you were before. Currently, I'm being bit in the ass full on. Not literally, of course.

"BIG BLACKS MUSIC SHACK." Murdoc peeps up, a long while later.

"what?" I ask. "What are you talking about?"

"The music shop where our drummer is baby! THAT'S what it's called, big blacks music shop!"

"Why'd you remember it just now?" I ask, out of curiosity.

"Its right there dumb arse, how do you THINK?" He points a finger out towards the front windscreen, where a small building that looks a lot like uncle norm's (where I work), you know, small, bricky. Except where our sign would have been, a giant neon monster of a sign reads: _Big Black's Music Shack._ Murdoc pulls in recklessly, perching one tire on the side of the curb. Great parking man.

"So... what?" I ask, as we exit the car. "We're just gonna go in there and get him?

He shoves my shoulder, pushing me back towards the car.

"Whoa, whoa 2-dent. When did I day WE'RE?"

I shrug. "I don't know I just assumed-"

"Well don't assume, assuming isn't your job, your job is to wait in the car, like a good boy."

"but-"

"Can you manage that?" He teases stupidly.

Without another word, I hop back in the car as Murdoc retrieves, what looks like a gas tank, and walks up to the front of the shop.

"Is that a gas tank? I stick my head out the window to ask.

He looks back. "Fuck you and your stupid questions."

How many times has he left me in the car unaware of what the hell he's doing? More than three, that's for sure. But luckily, by now I know where the interesting things are, to toy around with while he's doing whatever he's doing. I reach under the seat, to find something other than a dashboard hula dancer, trash, and a few thongs. Something papery? I pull it out to find it's a playboy. Well, I'm bored to death, and just browsing won't harm anything. It's not like I'm going to start whacking off in the car. Ten or so minutes later, I close the magazine and look at the cover. It's familiar... Like I've seen this before somewhere. Like...I walked in on Murdoc reading it... and doing more than reading it- OH GROSS! I throw it in the nearest direction, just to get it out of my hands.

"FACEACHE! Help me move this thing." Murdoc shouts from the open front door.

I stick my head out the window. "Move what? Can't you do it?"

A rock, that I didn't see coming hits me in the side of the face. I rub the side of my face and groan in pain, giving up and getting out of the car.

"Yeah, alright I'm coming I'm coming."

"Whoa, personal." He mutters.

"Not like that." I sigh. "What'd you need?"

"Help moving this massive tub of lard." He gestures to a HUGE black man, lying lifeless on the shop door. I jump back out of shock.

"D'd ya kill him? Is he d-dead?"

"No you great idiot, I gassed him."I raise an eyebrow.

"You mean... like you ripped one on him, and it smelled so terrible he got knocked out?"

Once more, he smacks me in the side of the head.

"You fucking loon." He laughs. "C'mon, no time for fooling, help me get this guy in there."

Murdoc takes his arms, and I take his legs, and well... let's just say this guy is HUMUNGOUS. I mean seriously, what has this guy been eating?

"Woah man, watchu tryin ta do?" A booming voice echoes above everything else. But it didn't come from the big guy.

"Where did that come from?" I ask.

"I don't know, just move him."

The voice starts up again. " You wanna tell me whatchu doin with my man russ?"

As quick as anything else fast, a blue shadow leaks out of the big man's white eyes, and forms a man. Or what I think is a man, or ghost or something. I can't tell, because by now I'm hiding behind Murdoc.

"WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?" I ask.

"That's hardly nice, is it?" The ghostly man says, flicking the yellow hat on his head.

"But neither is y'all, since apparently, you takin my buddy. Now you gon explain yourselves?"

"Move along corpsey." Murdoc hisses. "I've got things to do."

"Nuh uh, I don't think so man."

"I don't think so either, SO MOVE!"

"DON'T EAT US, WERE SORRY!" I shout.

"I won't little boy blue." The ghost says. "So long as you drop Russ."

"Over your dead body." Murdoc sasses.

To save us both from whoever, or whatever this is, I feel I should explain why were taking his buddy.

"We... were just taking him for a band."

The ghost glowers one of his white eyes. "A band? Like... you want him to drum for ya?"

I nod. "Yeah, we heard he's good."

"No, I heard he's good, you just shut up and let handle this." Murdoc says.

"Ehem... "Murdoc clears his throat. "Yeah IM taking this fellow for MY band."

After a moment, the ghost begins to laugh. "Well, all you got to do is ask my bruthas! Names Del."

He reaches out a transparent hand to be shaken. I take it hesitantly.

"I'm Stuart, and that's-"

"I can introduce myself faceache, I'm not stupid. Murdoc Niccals."

Del crosses his arms. "Not sure if I like you man. Disrespectin."

"Well listen." Murdoc begins. "We can both avoid whatever this squabble is, if you just move aside, and let me take my drummer."

Del sneers at Murdoc, and turns his head to me. "This guy you two knocked unconscious, he's my man Russell Hobbs. Best drummer you evah seen, I can tell ya that."

"That's err.. why we want him?" I say nervously.

"I dunno, I don't trust this other guy.." Del says, glaring at Murdoc, who's becoming quite noticeably pissed.

"He's just.. a little hot headed."

Murdoc smacks me upside the face. As a reaction, I rub where he hit.

"What was that for?" I ask.

"Bein an idiot." Murdoc mumbles. "Now come on, I've got things to do."

Del stands strong. "You think I'm gonna let y'all just WALTZ outa here with my best buddy? Hell no, I aint."

Murdoc swivels his eyes around deviously. He's brewin up a plan.

"Hey.. so you rap right?"

Del cocks his head. "Oh, so you think JUST CAUSE IM-"

"No, nothing like that." Murdoc says convincingly. "I think I err.. may have heard of you? You died in a shootout not too long ago?"

Del hesitates. "Where you goin with this?"

"yeah." I agree. "where ARE you going with this?"

Murdoc snaps his head to me. "2 dent, go wait in the car. The men here, have got some dealing to do.."

In the corner of Murdoc's rear view mirror, a giant lump is visible in the back seat. And according to Del the scary ghost, this lumps name is Russell Hobbs, The greatest drummer there ever was. Still though, I don't know how Murdoc managed to get Del to let us just kidnap his best friend.

"So he just let you take him?"

"No, he didn't just _let me take him." _He mimics my voice in a womanly way.

This insult puts my head down. "I don't even sound like that."

"Yeah." He scoffs. "Ya do."

"So again, how did that ghost guy let you take- err.. Russell."

Murdoc groans. "Your head must be filled to the brim with hot air.. Anyways.." He continues.

"I'm just persuasive. I told him this bands gonna be BIG. And it'd make his buddy huge! Well.. huger than he already is." Murdoc chuckles.

"So he really just let you take him-"

Murdoc pinches my shoulder. Hard. "Sweet Satan, faceache, is EVERY other word out your stupid little head a question? I swear if I hear ONE more fucking question, ill shove your head SO far up your own arse, you'll be able to see your colon."

As I take a minute to remember what a colon is, Murdoc, surprisingly fires up another conversation.

"you said you had a lead guitar player dullard. So where is she?"

"I.." I say sheepishly. "I haven't asked her yet."

Murdoc groans and thumps me in the cheek.

"You idiot, I'm doing EVERYTHING here. All you're doing is playing the stupid keyboard, and singing your little songs. Other than that, you're USELESS!"

I shrug. "Err... not for long? And what are you even doing to help?"

"Umm let's see... I got the drummer, I recruited your retarted arse, I stole the instruments, and I got the studio."

"Studio?" I ask. "What studio?"

His famous demon-esque smile takes over his face. "THE studio. Kong studios."

"and whats that?"

"This bands new HQ."

Though im still confused, it kind of sounds like im gonna get a new place to live. And that means getting out of my parents house. So err.. hooray?


	6. 6: She Really Was Rechid Looking

**Chapter 6: She Really Was Rechid Looking..**

An invisible whirl of cold air rushes in through the open door of an empty studio. A HUGE empty studio. I Mean seriously, this place is gigantic! Outside its many windows, scaling the tall walls rain pours from every crease in the dark night sky. Murdoc's figure appears out of the dark outside, carrying in one of his many boxes.

"This place is huge." I say, as I turn my head back to Murdoc.

"This must have cost you your life!"

"Not really." He mutters. "I've already sold that. I got this dump for free."

"Dump? This place is huge!"

"2 dent, have you even SMELLED this great empty hole? Or even looked at it?"

I take my time to look around this entrance area. Cracks in the walls, mildew, a few broken windows, dust. He's right. It's big, but it'll take some cleaning up. But still, it's amazing... And I don't live with my parents anymore... So that already adds to it, even if it does smell nasty.

"Smells like Muds up, in here." An American voice booms. That must have been Russell, and"Muds" is Murdoc. That name was acquired when I was apparently drunk, and couldn't pronounce shit. Ever since, me and Russ have been teasing him quite a bit with that name, even though it's gotten me a few beatings. Not Russell though.. Because he's pretty tough... It's been about a month since we "recruited" him, and he's turned out to be a great guy.

"Watch it, you." Murdoc warns, plopping a box onto the ground.

"I'm just foolin with ya man." Russell gives him a shoulder noogie, and gazes around.

"Damn, how'd you get this place?"

"Some screaming guy literally just _threw_ me the keys. No kidding."

"Well, you guys want to look around?" I ask.

"_I'm _finding my room." Murdoc points to himself. "You buffoons can have what's left over."

Russell shrugs.

"I gotta pee, you go ahead man."

I shrug back, and head for a door reading _Staircase _in sloppy black paint. I open a rickety wooden door, to find an even ricketier badly lit staircase. Should I go up? I mean, it looks a little sketchy... Blah, ive seen worse... _probably._ My unsure feet take me up the staircase, as a strange humming noise seems to whistle behind me. Must be the wind, or bad heating or something. Another few steps takes me closer to the stop.

_Hmmmmmhmm_

I whip my head around to investigate. But, nothing? Must be my head. But it keeps going, even when I reach the top of the empty staircase and open the door. A long hallway rests in front of me, with.. one door? Why only one? It's such a long hallway... Maybe I should go back down and ask Murdoc where the bedrooms are… But what's behind _that _door?

I continue down the long hallway, against my own wishes. The heating vent, or whatever that weird humming noise is coming from, seems to be getting louder as I walk. What seems like forever ticks by when I finally reach the end of the hallway, and a long metal door? Hesitantly, I grab the doorknob like no problem, and twist it. The door opens to reveal a bathroom. Just a plain and simple bathroom, with dirty what-probably-used-to-be-white tiles, and similar white walls with what looks like lipstick smudged all over them. A dirty porcelain toilet and a matching cracked sink sit side by side, a perfectly normal mirror perched over the sink. Just an average, dirty bathroom. No special room? Huh, well I guess its special now, since I have to pee. So I.. Well... you know, go about that, peeing and all. The air seems to get warmer around my neck... almost like breathing? I wonder if-

"_You know, vie seen better"_

"WHO THE HELL?" I shout, nearly tumbling over. I zip myself up and turn around. No one. Just the same dark, cold bathroom. Inside my chest, my heart beats three times more than usual, nearly escaping my chest.

"Is... is anyone there?" I ask. No answer. I must either be _really_ tired, or the pills are finally just mow getting to me. I turn over to the sink after a moment, and shake off the jumpiness, to try to wash my hands, but the water won't turn on. Dang, sink must be busted.

"Your turning it the wrong way, turn it to the left." A nice floating head from behind me tells me.

I turn it to the left, and sure enough...

"Oh thanks!" I say… Hold up a second. WHAT THE FUCK?"

Behind me, a woman's head with these GREAT bulging eyes, and a puppet like mouth whizzes around my shoulder, whipping her ghostly blonde hair around.

I'd tell it to leave me alone, but all I can manage is-

"GAAAAAAAAAHHH!"

The spook turns her head around and around, going upside down and back right side up.

"What? Not fond of blondes?"

Still screaming, I quickly stop to manage a some words.

"SOMONE FUCKING HELP THERES A THINGY IN HERE AND IT WANTS TO EAT ME!"

"You sure are a _pretty _boy." It says, still spinning, and drawling closer to me.

"OR IT WANTS TO RAPE ME; I DON'T KNOW JUST SOMONE GET IN HERE!"

Just seconds before the door opens, the spook melts down to the floor, to a pile of red goo, causing me to squeal even more. Murdoc flies in, in only his _lovely_ leopard print thong, and on his face, wearing a less than pleased expression. He grabs me by the collar

"Who the HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?"

"THERE WAS A GHOST GIRL THING-"

He slaps my face.

"BE QUIET."

"BUT-"another slap.

"I SAID-SHUT-UP"

Slap after slap, hits me on either side of the face one after another for about ten seconds before Russell walks in on this awkward situation.

"What's goin on-"Halfway through the door, Russell cocks his head and raises an eyebrow. Murdoc lets me go, and I fall to the floor.

"I err... heard screaming..."

I speak up.

"There is GHOSTS HERE."

Russell shrugs.

"Where? Ghost's aint that bad, my best buddy's a ghost."

"Yeah..." I shake. "But Del isnt creepy, THIS THING WAS."

A blow from Murdoc's foot gets me in the shin.

"Believe me dullard, I'VE SEEN WORSE."

"But- but, it-"

Murdoc puts a finger to his chin. "Talking about ghosts, YOUR about to become one, so STUFF IT."

"You shouldn't be so mean to your friends." The pile of red glop, has evidently grown a face, and spoke up in my defense.

Murdoc glances at it, than me, and without a second thought, stamps his foot in it, triggering it to melt into the dirty tile in a muck of steam, becoming a hardened crust.

Russell sighs. "I seen enough shit today, I'm callin it a night. Peace."

With that, he leaves, off down the hallway.

Murdoc turns around and looks at me. A weird look, like he almost feels a bit sorry. After a moment, he unbolts his quiet mouth.

"You err... you alright?"

I shrug. "I... I guess."

His face hardens as he nods, and opens the door to leave. I speak up as he leaves.

"Why do you care?"

He raises an eyebrow. "_Ehem... _I don't. I just err... Can't have my singer damaged, that's all."

I nod awkwardly.

"Well um... thanks for... uh.. Saving me from that thing."

"You're most certainly _not _welcome."

The door slams, and I'm left in the bathroom. Why _did _he care?

"_How sweet._" A small voice says from behind me. I hightail it out of there. I think, I won't use that bathroom anymore.

**3 weeks later**

_T-t tang ba- da bang. _

That marks the end, of some song Murdoc wrote when he was hammered, that consisted of plenty of dirty vocals, and heavy drums, and screechy guitar solos. This one, that doesn't have a name yet, we've been practicing hard ever since we got Paula two and a half weeks ago. Russell waves us off, and is the first to leave practice.

"Alright, that should be enough for now; I'm off for a drink." Murdoc says.

Paula sets down her guitar and smiles. "Yeah, count me in; I could go for a scotch on the rocks."

I scratch my head. "I thought you said we was gonna go see a movie or something? Hang out?"

Paula bites her lip and pinches my cheek softly between her thumb and pointer finger, running her other hand through my hair.

"Oh stu, we were… but..." She stalls for a moment.

"Your keyboard playing... It sounds a bit too…Cruddy."

I cock my head and lower my eyebrows in hurt. "Cruddy? I thought I was sounding pretty good..."

"You usually do! But I was thinking that you could stay behind and practice for a couple more hours?"

I lower my head. "Did I really sound _that _bad?"

She shrugs. "Honestly yes.._."_

"I didn't think-"

She pulls me in by her lips with mine and gives me a short kiss.

"_Baby..."_ she brings out a sweet voice. "I need you to do this. The band needs you to do this; we can't have you bringing us down! You need more practice..."

I give In. "alright, I guess so."

With a smile, she pats me on the shoulder.

"Good. I'm off." Without so much as a goodbye, she runs out the studio door.

"Love ya?" I try. No answer. With a heavily disappointed sigh, I sit back down to the keyboard stool and tickle the plastic keys. The sweet notes seem _too_ sweet for this sour moment. Am I really bringing us down? I thought I sounded alright... Murdoc's even said a couple times that I sounded _okay._ But not cruddy. I have another sigh, and go on with my practicing, no matter how bad of a mood I'm in. At least she loves me...

A door swings open and batters against the wall, clattering itself into the sound of my keyboard, revealing an angry Russell,

"What's up man?" I ask. I wonder what's wrong with him.

His angry expression turns a bit saddened as he lays a hand across his forehead.

"Stuart... man. I don't know how to tell ya this bud..."

I look up at him. "What?"

He walks in closer, and puts a hand on my shoulder.

"I'm just gonna say this; I just caught Paula with Murdoc."

The heart in my chest nearly stops.

"_What?_" I look down in sadness, and then back up at Russel.

"Caught... caught doing what?"

Russ shakes his head. "You know what, man fucking! Your slutty ass girlfriend slept with Muds!"

I shake my head. "No, she wouldn't do that, I know she wouldn't!"

"Dude..."

I stand up. "You're lying! Just... stop it... it's not funny!"

"Stu, I'm telling you!"

The door batters open again, and Paula in a half buttoned blouse and tussled hair comes through.

"STUART! HE'S LYING; I NEVER DID ANYTHING WITH MURDOC."

Russell gestures to Paula

"Man, LOOK AT HER! She's half fucking dressed, and what, you think she's just sittin around havin a tea party or somthin?"

Shooting a fiery glare at Russell, Paula walks quickly over to me and holds me by my arms.

"Stu honey, you KNOW I didn't, don't you?"

I'm silent, as Murdoc walks in the door, again, in only his underpants, and his hand clutched over his nose, red running down to his chest.

"Your all joking… stop it!" I stutter. "Its- it's not funny! Just quit it!"

"Murdoc, why don't you do the kid SOME good and tell the truth." Russell speaks up.

"What? Yeah..." Murdoc laughs. "It's true, your girlfriends a whore, and this asshole broke my nose." He points to Russell

As much as I'd like to believe it's not... I know it's true. All the evidence is here. Paula's barley clothed, Murdoc's half naked, and Russ broke his nose...

"Paula..." I mutter, glaring into her deep brown eyes.

"How could you?"

"I... I.." She stutters, looking around the room. This is all the proof I need.

I shake my head. "Fuck you. Fuck all of this..."

A bit of warm water begins to well up in my eyes, as I run off and crash the door noisily behind me. I don't know where I'm going but, as my feet take me farther away from this door, I know I want to get as far away as possible.

"Stuart!" The door opens up again behind me, and they all follow out, Paula in front.

"STU, WHO ARE YOU BELIEVING, ME OR THESE ASSHOLES?"

Three pairs of eyes fly like darts, and I'm the dartboard. After a moment of silence, I talk

"Russ is my friend, and I know he's not about to lie about this sort of thing. I trust him."

"WHAT?" She shouts.

"I wasn't THAT bad, was I?" I speak up. "Bad enough... that you... you had to lie that I was bad at practice, and go BANG HIM? Was I THAT unsatisfying?"

"Well, I am pretty satisfying." Murdoc chuckles from behind Russell. Russell elbows him to be quiet.

"I liked you a lot." I tell her. "But it's too bad, because I don't anymore."

"What are you saying?"

"Get out." I point behind me.

"You can't just KICK me out of this band; I'm as much a part of this as YOU ARE!"

"I don't think anyone else wants you here either." A small tear makes its way out of my eye. I wipe it away with my sleeve.

"Get that bitch outa here." Russell says. Murdoc shrugs, with his hand still over his profusely bleeding nose.

"Whatever, she sucked at guitar anyways, and she's not very good looking. Kick her out."

"There you have it." I say.

Her eyes, like fire burn into me.

"FINE. I'll leave." She says, taking of her shoe, and throwing it directly at my head. That'll leave a bruise.

"But just so were clear, YOUR WEIRD LOOKING, STUPID, YOUR NOT GOOD AT YOUR MUSIC, YOU SUCKED IN BED, AND YOU HAVE A SMALL DICK, SO FUCK YOU STU."

My face reddens as she gives me a bitchy little wave that morphs into her middle finger.

"Fuck this band, you'll never get big." She mutters as she exits through a door.

"AND ILL SEND FOR MY STUFF."

Life seems sweet when you've got a band and a nice place to live, and even sweeter when you feel good, and you've got friends in this small cruel world. But that sweetness can rot ever so quickly, and those friends you supposedly had turn on you, and sleep with your girlfriend. I sit on the front steps of the studio and think of this. Think about Paula. How I'll never see her again, how I never want to see her again, and how a small part of me does, even though she's just stepped on my heart and embarrassed me in front of my friends. If you can even _call _Murdoc a friend, seeing as how he's fucked my girlfriend. Or my _ex _girlfriend now. I guess though, maybe I can't really blame him? Paula was pretty, but she was also a slut, and avoiding that maybe wasn't so easy? Her thinish thick, yet somehow pretty lips, now seem thinish thick, and somehow ugly. The sound of steps behind me, that I guess must be Russell, is followed by a gentle hand to my shoulder. I wipe away a couple silent tears that I'd left on my cheek.

"You know, she really was retched looking." Its Murdoc's voice. Though I'm surprised, I don't look up, or answer.

"And her tits were fake, I can tell you that right now." He sits down by me on the steps, under the grey sky.

I laugh slightly. "How can you tell?"

He shrugs, and gets out a pack of cigarettes, lighting one up for himself, and to my surprise, tossing one onto my lap.

"I can just tell."

"Thanks..." I mutter, lighting mine up.

After a second, he talks again.

"And we can find a new lead guitarist, 2- dent."

"I know..."

"We'll just put an ad in the paper or something. She wasn't even that good with her music!

I bite my lip and sigh. "Apparently, neither am I."

"Nah, your pretty good Stuart. Not as great as me, but you'll do."

I change the subject.

"If she was so bad looking ... why'd you do her?"

"I do everyone."

"Everyone?"

Well..." He rubs his chin with a still bloody hand. "Not EVERYONE. There are exceptions, like men and stuff."

I snicker. "Paula does everyone."

Murdoc laughs and hits my back in a perky way.

"That's a good boy ... and yes, she does. I'd get yourself tested if I were you."

"Yeah, you too..."

The two of us sit in the stillness of the grey landscape, saying nothing at all for a while. And everything seems alright.

"Muds?" I ask.

"What."

"Why are you-..? Why are you being so nice to me?"

He turns his head away from me, and faces the sky.

"Let's just tell the rest of the world, and ourselves, that I'm not."

And I did. I told myself and Russell that he beat me up and scolded me for being so stupid, proceeding to throw me onto the ground and kick my legs. That was enough to fool Russell, because if anyone had thought Murdoc had been nice for a change, they'd think he'd gone soft, and then Murdoc would ACTUALLY throw me down on the ground and kick my shins. But this wasn't enough to fool me. I knew, for a few minutes, for once, he wasn't angry or pissed off. It didn't last ofcourse, and soon afterwards he'd gotten drunk and tried to tie me up with a hose and put me in the bathtub, filling it up to my nose with water. But I'm still breathing, so I guess that's all that matters... but barely.


	7. 7:Happy

i** Chapter 7: ** **Happy**

**Yes, things may seem to be going slow.. but trust me, they're picking up VERY soon Review, and tell me your ideas! I'd love to hear them **

A band is like machinery. Without every part and gadget, it's straight up not gonna work. So like a car without an engine, a band without a lead guitarist isnt going to function... Or not correctly anyway... So since Paula left, naturally, everything went to hell. For the past month, since she left (or was kicked out) Murdoc's been particularly bitter. As weird as it seems, he was more bitter than usual. Which, as anyone who's met him can imagine, is hard to deal with? His random beating, fits of rage, binge drinking sprees, which now that I think about it isnt that uncommon after all. The reasoning though, for why he's been so upset, confuses me. More than likely it's because were missing one of the most important parts of the band. Like I said before, a good band can't function right without a lead guitarist. Still though... some of me wondered if he was paying back some anger for the night he was nice to me. That was rather weird...Maybe ill just let it go...

And apparently, Muds has just gone out to put an ad in the local paper about hiring someone to play for us. He's been out for a while though... i wonder when he's coming back.

"2 DENT!" The front door swings open, and I look up from where I'm sitting on the couch. Yup, he's back.

"Took you long enough." I say, as a pair of brown boots stomps closer and closer to me, Murdoc glaring with all the rage in the sun. He's obviously not happy with something. Grabbing me by the neck, he pulls a wrench out of his pocket and shoves it through my lips harshly into my mouth.

"Fix the toilet." He mutters, walking away like nothing's just happened.

I scratch my head and pull the wrench out of my mouth. "What's wrong with it?"

He collapses onto a ratty old couch we brought in and sighs.

"Hell, I don't know it's BROKE. Fix it; you said you're good with mechanics"

"Cant us just hire a mechanic?" I ask. "I might break it more, or something."

In less than a second, the back of something plasticy and heavy hits my chin. It falls to the floor. A screwdriver.

"You think we have the money? Fix it, or I'm using YOUR bed as a toilet."

I shrug. "Ill checks it out. It's not that creepy bathroom with the melting ghost is it?"

Murdoc sighs. "No you overgrown puddle of baby drool, its stall two in the other bathroom. The one you're NOT afraid to use, now get to it, I have to take a shit."

I chuckle and begin to walk off to fix said problem, when the ear raping buzzer of a doorbell rings.

"These better be my new kicks man, I've been waiting for days." Russell says, as he emerges from the stairs, and goes for the door.

"Tell me if it's something interesting." I joke, and walk off again.

"Err... stu?" Russell calls from the doorstep. "This is definitely something interesting..."

"Hmm?" I cock my head and stroll over to where he is, at the front door. "What is it?"

Russ scratches his head and points to something outside on the doorstep. On this doorstep, rests a thin, wooden FedEx package, taller than any of us, with numerous stickers and markings on it.

"Err what size kicks did you say you wear Russ?"

Russell shakes his head and puts a hand on top of the unexplained box.

"These aint my shoes man. Think Muds ordered up a Russian mail order whore or something."

"Probably." I say. "Ill ask him.

I stick my head in through the open door.

"OY! Muds! Dye order Russian lass in the mail?"

He turns around and cups his hands into a megaphone over his mouth. "FUCK YOU…and fix the toilet."

I shrug, and turn back to Russell. That answer seemed pretty clear.

"What do you think it is?" Russell asks.

Putting a finger to my chin, I consider this.

"Muds come look at this!"

A few seconds later, a kick to the back of my knee sends me to the ground, and Murdoc's out on the front porch, ready to inspect.

"This better be pretty fucking interesting." He mutters with his arms crossed, face tied into a sour expression

I pick myself up, and wipe a bit of blood away from a fresh scrape that marks my left ankle. For a while, we all just stare at this mystery box.

Murdoc nudges his elbow softly into my ribcage.

"Well open it Stuart, I haven't got all day."

Abandoning any fears of what's in this crate, I grab the top of the crate and attempt to pry it open.

***FRUMBLE***

Something rattles around in the box, and I jump back.

Murdoc scratches his ass (how lovely) and steps up to the box.

"What in the- huh, maybe it _is_ a mail order broad..."

***RATTLE RATTLE***

"Whatever it is, it wants to be let out." Russell says.

"No, really? Thanks for clearing that up Russ." Murdoc growls.

**"**Fuck you. C'mon, let's push it inside."

All together, we hoist the pillar of a box up, to discover it's not really that heavy. Eventually, we set it down in the entryway.

"So..." I begin awkwardly. "Should we open it?

***CRACK!***

An eardrum pounding crack sounds through the halls of the studio, and the action to match it is a spunky little Japanese looking girl, only about three or four feet tall, a les Paul shining in her teeny hand. For a moment she just stands there, with these great little eyes, looking up at us. Her voice rolls off into gibberish. Some sort of other language maybe. When none of us reply, but instead stand there dumbfounded, she cocks her head and twiddles around with a little silver button on her green pockety jacket, and blurbs off into gibberish again.

"What in the hell is she talking about?" Murdoc says.

Russ shrugs. "Dang, I don't know. Cute little one though... what do you think she's here for?"

That question is answered fully, when the little ball of light readies her guitar, and unleashes an army of dark, thick metaly riff that beats out pretty much every guitar solo I've ever heard. Her playing goes on as we continue to stare. I'm sure; none of us has ever seen anything like _this _before... Well... at least I havent. When this music ends, she takes herself up into the air, higher and higher into some kind of karate kick, landing it perfectly, and speaking only one word:

"Noodle."

I cock my head. "Noodle?"

"Don't question the girl face ache." Murdoc snaps his head over to me, and then his widened eyes spin back to the young girl.

"_Brilliant..."_

Russell is the first one to try to talk to her. He kneels down, so he's almost at her height. Still taller though.

"Hey little one. What's your name?"

Confused looking, the youngen spins her head the room, and then back to Russell.

"...Noodle?"

"Don't think she knows English." I add.

"Than what's her name?" Russell asks.

"Obviously, it's Noodle." Murdoc answers.

I stretch back my arms.

"What gives you that idea?"

He casually pulls a fag out his back pocket, and blazes it up.

"Russ asked her name, she said Noodle. That's that."

Hmm... Noodle... What a funny name for a funny little girl.

Half a smile spreads onto Russell's face, and his eyes seem to brighten.

"Sounds alright. Can we keep her?"

"_Ofcourse _were keeping her." Murdoc scoffs excitedly. "Y, think I'm just gonna throw away an OBVIOUS successful lead guitarist? She's bloody brilliant! Well... i mean I could do better..."

"Like hell you could." Russell says bitterly. "She's got mad soul."

"She does, I'll give you that." Murdoc laughs. He's excited about this, I can tell.

"So, did we decide on a name for the band yet?" Russell asks.

I raise an eyebrow. "I thought we were going with the sneezing heezies?"

"No, no that's straight rubbish." Murdoc says, rubbing his finger to his chin. "We do need _something _though...STUART!"

"What?" I ask. "That's not a very good band name..."

"No you blithering idiot." He mutters, shoving me off down the hall.

"YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO FIX THE DAMN TOILET!"

Oh, right... the toilet. Well... i might as well do that before he brands me with a peice of hot metal. Or something else terrible. But how can I fix stuff right now? I mean this is pretty exiting! With this new amazing lead guitarist, things seem to be coming together pretty well. But either way, a rock to the head from Murdoc doesn't seem like much fun, so I guess I'll just have to go fix the toilet. After a decent amount of walking, (the studio is pretty big) I reach the toilets and thankfully not the scary spooky bathroom with the melty ghost, but the one with the numbered stalls and cement floors. Now let's see... which stall did he say had the broken toilet? I think it was probably two... since, well, it's the only one with infinity peices of shattered porclein spilling out of the stall. Jesus, he told me it was broken, not that he took a sledgehammer to it.

"**GORILLAZ!" **Murdoc booms in the distance. Wonder what that's about?

After about an hour of tinkering and hot glue... the toilet still looks like a shitty mess, and i'll propably get choked for not fixing it. Damn...

An earful of gibberish speaks behind me. I turn my head to see the little girl (or noodle) standing there with a cocked head.

"Oh... hello." I greet her.

"Noodle." she says spunkily.

"Err... yeah, I guess so?" I laugh, as she skips over happily. She waves a small hand at me.

"Hey little girl."

"Noodle."

I raise an eyebrow. "D'you have a name?"

Without an answer, she takes two fingers and plays with the skin around my eye.

I chuckle. "Yeah, I've got eyes... hard to believe isnt it? Their just hard to see..."

She mumbles something I can't understand, and points to a trickle of blood on my ankle, than pointing out the door.

"Huh?" I ask.

She shakes her head, and points to my cut again, than stomping around the bathroom, making some sort of growly noise like she's imitating a demon. Or Murdoc. That's it, a perfect impression of Murdoc!

"He does kind of sound like that." I say.

Shaking her head again, she points to my cut ankle again, and makes the growly Murdoc noise.

"Oh, I'm alright." I assure her. "He doesn't mean too, I mean- well..."

"Noodle!" She shouts, and folds her arms.

"Is that the only word you know?" I ask softly.

She just looks confused.

"Alright." I say. "Maybe... we'll try to teach you English?"

"Noodle."

Well... I think that's enough of an answer.

A watercolor ball of yellow fluff lies on a cardboard page in a small children's book. Noodle stares at it for a moment, and then utters something I still can't understand.

"Duck." I tell her.

She puts a hand to her chin, and mutters something.

"Duck." I say again.

After a moment, she speaks up.

"Dock." She repeats me.

"Good." I cheer her, and pat her small head. She seems to be a fast learner...

I turn a page, to reveal a cottony looking brown dog, playing with a beach ball.

"Dog." I say.

She begins to say something, and changes her mind.

"Dug."

"Good-"

"FACEACHE!" Murdoc stumbles into the bathroom with a half empty bottle of Curacao in his hand, and a nasty expression rotting on his face.

"What-.. What in... What are you doing?"

"Trying to teach noodle some basic words."

"Who- why? No..." He stutters as the smell of alcohol radiates throughout the room.

"I told you to... fix- fix the toilet..."

"Muds." I sigh. "You destroyed it, it's unfixable.

He looks up at me and glowers his eyes. "What?"

"It's... it's in pieces Murdoc, I can't fix that..."

For a moment, he just stands still before looking down at noodle.

"Come on than child, go along." He shoos her out of the room and hands her the small picture book, than closing the door.

"So... I tell you to fix the toilet... and you contaminate my guitarist with your stupidity?"

I shake my head and stand up nervously as he gets closer to me.

"She doesn't know any English man... She needs to learn-"

"What she needs to LEARN, doesn't concern you, were not her parents."

"She's just young." I protest. "She doesn't even know basic words! You can't expect her to play guitar for you if she only knows ONE word of English."

"That _'hic' _doesn't matter... Words don't affect...her music." He staggers closer.

"I told you already, she won't play for you if she doesn't know how to talk first!"

His anger thickens, and a flash of white hot pain snaps from his fist into the side of my face, sending me onto the ground. A small trickle of red spills out my mouth.

"You can't _tell_ me anything. I own you." He takes a swig of Curacao.

"I'm sorry." I mutter. "I just- I thought that-"

"That's the-PROBLEM!" He kicks me in the stomach as I try to get back up.

"You're not supposed to think."

He walks for the door, as I pick myself up from the dirty floor.

"You don't have to be such an arse..." I say.

"Oh, I'm sorry." He fakes. "What, you want me to be nice? FINE, you look _ravishing _today Stuart."

"Who-what?" I ask, wiping away another blot of blood from my mouth.

He takes his hand off the doorknob, and staggers around to face me.

"I said you look ravishing today Stuart. REAL sexy. There, have a nice day darling." He says sourly, and the door slams. The taste of bitter blood that I've gotten used to, floats around in my spit. I spit it out onto the ground, as the door softly opens. A small, young monkey like face appears in the doorway, and noodle shyly walks in, the same book in her hand. She glances at me with a sorry expression, before grabbing my hand and dragging me onto the ground to sit. She flips the cardboard pages of the small book open, and lands her finger on a picture of a big cheesy smile, on a yellow face.

"Happy." I tell her, pointing back at the picture.

"Heppy." She repeats, smiling herself. She casts her eyes upon me, and her smile turns into a frown.

"Heppy!" she says, and takes the corners of my mouth with her hands, dragging them upward into a forced smile.

I laugh, and make my own smile, forgetting about Murdoc's rudeness. Well..as much as i can...


	8. 8: Don't leave Me

**Chapter 8: Dont Leave Me**

**Im sorry for those of you who don't like time skips :P But otherwise, everything would be SUPER slow and boring, no wouldn't it? Alright, so this is set like At the beginning of demon days: Review, and tell me your opinions And again, if this isnt your kind of thing..don't read it! Im not forcing ya **

**6 Or So Years Later:**

I inhale, taking in the situation, as hard as it may be. Pulling the phone back to my face, i glue some words together, and force them out.

"He's going to be there isnt he?"

Noodle's sweet little laugh sounds through the phone, almost comforting me.

"Is "he", who i think he is?"

I sigh, and ruffle my hair. "Propably, who do you think i mean?"

"Murdoc." She answers.

"You'd be correct, dear." I chuckle sadly.

A sigh comes from noodles line. "2D, a band's not a band without every peice."

"Like a car without an engine?" I ask.

"Yeah." She agrees. " And just like a car without an engine, Gorillaz without Murdoc, wont function.."

"Im not saying i dont want him there!" I protest. "Im just saying...that-"

"That you dont want to be _around_ him." She finishes my sentence.

"Err.. yeahh..."

She pauses for a moment, than picks up the conversation.

"He used to be your _best_ friend.." She says sadly.

"He was not!" I protest. "He was just..just-"

"One of your best male friends, in a sick and twisted way?"

"Oh, now your making me sound gross!" I laugh. "Stop that!"

A burst of funny laughter skips in through Noodle's end.

"Oh my god, im sorry. I didnt realize how that sounded. But you know what i mean right? That he was.. in some way, one of your closest friends?"

I shrug, though she can't see. "I don't know... I guess so... It's just-"

"Listen, 2D, you'll be fine, you'll both be fine. I promise. If he tries to choke you again, ill-"

"I almost suffocated because he didn't like my movie idea!" I interrupt her.

"I know 2D...I-" A clatter breaks her words.

"Noodle? What's happened?"

"Nothing, I'm fine." She says quickly. "Gotta go. Bye 2d! See you soon!"

Her line goes dead, and I'm left in the buzzing sound of the phone. I sigh, and hang up the phone myself, tossing it aside somewhere.

_"Gotta go. Bye 2d! See you soon!" _Noodles voice rings in my empty head. 2D. I haven't been called Stuart in years, except for by my parents, who refuse to take the nickname in, but I don't mind. It's funny actually, when Murdoc-...Murdoc. Thinking about him pains me, and not in a gooey way, I mean it just pisses me off. It's his fault Gorillaz plummeted a while back anyways, and he'll probably just screw everything over three time's worse. Or six times worse, for his sake.

"You ready to go, dude?" A voice asks from behind me. Shane Lynch, my NEW best friend. I look behind me, and he puts a hand on his brown buzz cut.

"Honestly, no." I Say bitterly. He laughs and pats my shoulder, dragging me up from my spot on the couch by my collar.

"Well screw you man, because I'm expecting you to get big again."

I laugh. "Oh you just want me to leave don't you?"

"Nah man." He says. "Were all gonna miss you, we are. And your gonna miss trucking?"

I nod. "Yeah, I am, but it looks like my break is up."

Shane picks up one of my bags, and heads out his front door.

"Your not expecting me to cry are you? Come on, eastbound Essex, here you go."

The studio. KONG studios. Here it is, and am I ready to go back in? Hell no. If I could, I would have stayed back home at the fairgrounds, but I wouldn't leave Russell and Noodle to deal with Murdoc alone. Kong Studios sits waiting for me on a hill, looking rustier and sicklier than before... I wonder if something's up. I push through the tall metal gates, and a small greenish blot becomes visible, walking up the steps before me. Murdoc. Shit. Well, here I go. Waiting for him to go inside, I take myself up the grassy hill on the steps, a duffle bag in hand. At some point, I've gotten to the top of those terrible stairs, and I'm really not looking forward to going in. The screen in front of the door blinks on, and Murdoc's face appears out of the grey.

"HEY LOOK ITS FACEACHE." He shouts. "GETCHYOUR ASS IN HERE!"

"You have to buzz me in." I say casually. "You know that."

"OH...right." He says. "Well, what if I don't want to?"

I'm _really_ not dealing with this right now.

I sigh. "Well, than I guess I'll just have to leave, than wont I?" I shrug, and turn around, to go back down the steps.

"Wait!" He shouts back.

"What?" I ask.

"Err..." He begins. "I was just fooling D, come on."

The door buzzes, and flies open. Murdoc stands there shirtless, and obviously drunk or stoned.

"Hey! Its err... its 2D!" He shouts.

"Yeah, hey." I say casually, faking a smile.

"Where's noodle?"

"I dunno." He mutters. "Somewhere round here. Haven't seen her yet.

"2D!" Noodle flies through the stairway door, and jolts over to me.

"Noodle!"I greet excitedly, as she jumps up and clutches around my neck.

"Oh yeah, cause I'm not here either." Murdoc grumbles, crossing his arms.

Noodle turns around, and puts an arm around him and dragging quickly him into an awkward hug, so my nose bumps into his forehead. We both fly back.

"Own!" I complain. "My nose is bleeding."

I wipe the bit of blood of the bottom of my nose. But it continues to run out my nose.

Noodle laughs. "You're priceless. I'll go get some paper towels."

"Err... sorry." Murdoc says quietly.

I shrug. "It's okay..."

Hold on, did Murdoc just say he was sorry, or am I drunk? Or is _he_ just really drunk? He stands there, looking around the room silently. Lord, this is awkward. Minutes pass, and noodles not back yet. Little droplets of red splat out onto the chest of my shirt.

"Noodles taking a while..." I mutter.

"You idiot." He says. "Just wipe it on your shirt!"

"No!" I say. "Its white, I'm not gonna ruin it..."

"Your not ruining anything, you'll just look like you got in a fight or something. You could use people thinking your ballsy." He says.

"Whatever." I laugh.

He shakes his head. "You have to hold your nose."

I cup a hand over my nose. "What like this?"

"No you dolt, like hold it."

"What?"

He groans and takes his thumb and index finger, pinching my nose between them, and pushing my head back. My nose in his hands, he shakes me around, gentle enough so not to break it.

"What are you doing?" I ask in a nasally voice. He is grabbing my nose, y'know.

"Helping you out." He laughs, dragging my nose back and forth. And I can't help but laugh, though this is painful.

"Hey I got-" Noodle walks in. Murdoc looks around, and back at noodle, and back at me, and back at noodle, than finally letting me go, and wiping off the blood he got on his hands to his pants.

"Umm..." she says."I'm confused as to what this-"

"Nothing." Murdoc says, and storms off.

Noodle watches him as he leaves. The door slams, and Murdoc is off somewhere, being angry.

"What was that about?" She asks, as she wipes up the remnants' of my nose bleed with a tissue.

"I...I..."

"You know what." Noodle says. "I don't really care, I'm just glad you two are back."

"Yeah... I know." Noodle finishes wiping my nose, and tosses the tissue in the nearest trash can. My god she's grown so old. Her hair covers most of her eyes now, and she's still short, but she's gotten taller.

"You're so big." I say nostalgically.

She shrugs. "I try. So... Murdoc seems to be acting nice..."

I groan. "Yeah, you know how long that'll last."

"It could..." She says. "Give it time, maybe he's found some sort of new happiness."

"We can only hope." I shrug.

One of the doors batters open again and Murdoc flies through, with a shirt on surprisingly. He heads for the front door.

"Where are you going?" Noodle asks. "You just got here!"

"Drinking. No lies." He says.

She looks back over to me, and then to Murdoc.

"Take 2D with you."

"Err... im well." I say.

Murdoc turns around.

"No- NO NO NO NO NO NO Theres no way in HELL I'm taking him with me. I leave to _escape _him, not take him with me.

"Murdoc." Noodle warns.

Murdoc crosses his arms. "No. I already said it, I'm not taking him, and there's no way you can make me."

"I can't fuck believe this." Murdoc mutters, one hand on the steering wheel, one ashing his cigarette out the window.

"Yeah, whatever." I mutter. "Let's just try to enjoy this, okay?"

He shrugs, and takes a deep inhale of his fag. My head begins to ache. It does that at the worst times, I swear. I turn my head around and put my forehead to the cold window, letting the chill get into my brain. But the soothe only lasts a few seconds, and soon the pain comes back.

"Headache?" Murdoc asks. I turn my head to him.

"Yeah. Real bad."

Without a word, he digs into his pocket for something, and pulls out a pill bottle, tossing it over to me. I pull out a couple and dry swallow them.

"Damn, slow down, your gonna choke!" He warns. "Sweet Satan..."

I roll my eyes and heave out a tired sigh. It's late, I don't feel well, and I'm really not in a great mood.

"Not like you care anyway." I mutter.

"Don't be such a drama queen." Murdoc says. "Just because you annoy me doesn't mean I'm letting my singer choke to death."

"Yeah, sorry." I say tiredly, leaving the conversation in an uncomfortable silence that lasts for a few minutes, until I decide to break it.

"So I heard you went to Mexican prison?"

"What kind of small talk is that?" He grumbles.

"Just a question. So did you or didn't you?"

"Did." he says quickly. "Heard you got a boyfriend."

"What?" I ask, raising an eyebrow and looking over at him. "No."

"Shane Lynch? Heard you two got pretty close."

I raise an eyebrow defensively. "He was a friend, lay off."

He sighs and shakes his head.

"Hell, cant you take a joke? If you're acting pissy because your head aches, I gave you some pills already, so shut up and be a man."

I change the subject.

"Where are we going anyways?"

Stubbing his cigarette on the side of the steering wheel, he shrugs.

"I dunno, anywhere I can get a cheap dry scotch. But with my head these days, I can't remember anywhere in Essex."

Come to think of it, I can't really either. I guess all this trucking, and carnival gaming, has filthed my head up. But there is that one nasty pub a few blocks from right here. Perfect.

"Muds, I think Switzy's is a couple blocks over."

Fuck, did I just call him Muds? Oh Jesus, I'm getting too comfortable here.

"Oh, yeah it is, right." He says. "Well, I guess that's good enough than, isnt it?"

Soon enough, we arrive at a scrubby little pub, with enough cigarette butts in the parking lot to fill a bathtub. I climb out of the car, and the night's air makes my head feel a bit better. Or maybe it's just the pills.

The stuffy air of Switzys greets us as we enter the Smokey area, scattered with loose women and angry old men. We pull up a couple stools, and take our place at the bar.

"What can me getch'a boys?" A red headed woman with high cheek bones asks, before her eyes widen.

"Hey, you're that Gorilla guy aren't you?" She asks Murdoc. And not me.

"Why yes, I would be." He flirts. "And who might you be love?"

And of course, this leads into one of Murdoc's flirty conversations he uses, just to lure in poor unsuspecting women. Finally, she lets us order.

"Dry scotch." He says.

"Whatever's on tap." I tell the bartender, and she walks off, waving seductively to Murdoc.

I look over to Murdoc, who's got a satisfied look on his face.

"How come when you're around, I never get noticed?"

He shrugs. "I'm that sexy.

I roll my eyes and accept this, only now noticing a bearded man with a long chin eyeing Murdoc. And not in a good way. In an extremely pissed off way.

I nudge my elbow at Murdoc.

"Hey that guys looking at you weird." I tell him.

He lets out a sigh and puts his head in his hands.

"Lord, I've been attracting more men than Angelina Jolie lately. Fuck."

I shake my head.

"No, it's not that. He just looks really pissed."

"What?" He turns around to get a full view of the man, angrily staring Murdoc down with his buds.

"Hey!" Murdoc calls out. "Buddy! You got a problem with me, or am I just this sexy?"

The man converses with the rest of his fat groupies for a minute, and pushes his stool back harshly. He makes his way over to Murdoc.

"Yeah, actually I do."

"And what would that be Elaine?" Murdoc teases.

"Priscilla, over there." He gestures to the redheaded bar maid.

"I've been trying to get at her for years, and it don't make it no easier, you just strolling in here and burnin up my chances."

Murdoc gets up and pushes his stool back roughly.

"Oh yeah, and what have you planned to do about it?"

"Murdoc." I warn, trying to drag him back by his shirt sleeve.

"Let it go, he's not worth it."

"No, I'll give this arse what for!" he hisses.

"No, nothing like that." The bearded man shakes his head. "To be honest, I'm not much of a fighter. But I'm a drinker."

"So what, you're going to drink me?" Murdoc sneers.

"Nope." The man shakes his head. "I've got a challenge for you, bub."

"Id rather just kick your arse."

Beard guy ignores this. "Simple challenge. Drinking contest. I win; you leave and leave Priscilla alone."

"And if I win?"

"Ill give you fifty bucks."

Murdoc nods. "You've got a deal fatso. Prepare to lose.

I think anyone who knows Murdoc, knows those twenty minutes later; he's won this contest, and fifty bucks. The bearded guy, (whose name is Marty) ended up passing out cold, onto the hard floor. I knew Murdoc would win. It's probably in his thick angry blood. But instead of passing out, He ended up drunk, and I mean REALLY drunk. Like wasted more than I've ever seen him! Now the problem would be getting him home.

Murdoc currently drums his hands on the end of the bar, celebrating his winnings, swaying back and forth.

"WOOO! D-damn... Nother round Pussyzilla. For...err...me and my people." He shouts to the bartender.

"It's Priscilla." She says bitterly.

Murdoc hiccups. "Priscilla, Puss-pussyzilla, its all the same, you might as well...change your n-name to Murdoc."

"Murdoc, I think it's time to go." I tell him.

"Wh what? I'm having a swell, jolly ol time 'hic' stu!"

"Will you get him out of here?" Priscilla warns, crossing her stick like arms.

"Err... yeah." I say with every hint of being in being embaressed in my voice. "C'mon Murdoc lets go."

"What hap- happened to mmmuds?" He laughs. "I liked that it was...'hic'...cute..."

"What?" I ask, trying to push him off the side of the bar. "That's enough Murdoc, let's go."

"I don't wanna go!"

"Murdoc..." I heave, trying to pull him by his arms. "Please."

"Oh fine..." he agrees."Let's leave Pussyzilla and- 'hic' go h-have some fun or something or other."

I manage to drape his arm around my shoulder, and pretty much pull him out.

"No, were going home. Let me see your keys."

"NO!" he smacks my hand away. "I- I want to...drive."

"Muds, your trashed, gimme your keys."

He stands like a wobbly idiot for a moment, before chuckling and tossing me his keys.

"Alright, only cause you're so ad-adorable."

"Murdoc, stop." I complain as I shove him carefully into the passenger seat. "You're being...weird."

"I am 'hic' not!" He laughs. His door slams in the middle of something he was trying to say. Ignoring this, I climb into the driver's side and start the car up.

"You're the one who's...being weird." Murdoc bumbles. "Acting all funny and distant, were friends, r-right?"

I sigh, and clutch my head. "Muds just go to sleep."

He chuckles. "Hehe.. Muds... there you go, g-good! I've always liked that, it sounds cute."

"You said you hated it when I called you that?" Oh what am I doing, it's no use talking to a drunk.

"Only when Russ-Russell says it. I like it when you say it."

Alright, this needs to stop. I know he's drunk but he can't be THIS drunk.

"Alright, why don't you just... go to sleep?" I suggest. "Ill tell you when your home!"

He shakes his head, and wiggles around like a child.

"Nooo! I never get to talk to you, EVER! I want to talk!"

"What do you mean you never get to talk to me?" I ask. "Were talking right now."

"But before tonight, we haven't in like YEARS!"

Than it hits me. I guess we haven't...and it feels...weird. I brush this off and reply.

"I guess we haven't..."

This rare quietness passes, and he opens his drunken mouth.

"I missed you." He brings over a hand and begins to twiddle a few strands of my hair between his long fingers. I almost don't stop him before brushing his hand off. When I don't reply, he moves out of his seat and attempts to climb over the center console to my seat.

"What are you doing?"I ask.

"I wa- wanna drive!" I start to push him back.

"Murdoc, quit it, were gonna crash!" Though I scold him, he continues his attempt to climb over to my lap. I've got no choice but to pull over. The nearest gas station flags me down with a blue ray of light, and I pull into it. I turn over to him and carefully shove him back over.

"Murdoc, what the fuck?"

"You look pretty." He laughs. "What cup size are you?"

"What?" I cock my head and raise an eyebrow. "I'm a guy."

"No, you s-silly." He laughs. "I 'hic' mean like... down there. Like sports cups."

WHAT THE FUCK? What is his problem? Something's not right here...

"What are you saying?" I ask nervously.

"I wanna see it." He laughs, and slides his hand over to my leg. I smack it away.

"Muds..." I explain nervously, and freaked the fuck out. "Your gonna go to sleep in the back seat for a while, and then were going to go, okay?"

"I'm... not tired."

"Muds, come on, get back there." I plead. "Just go take a little nap and I promise we'll go."

"Only if you go with me. It's boring as f-fuck back there, come on." He slurs.

"Your fine, just go back there."

"You come with me!"

I sigh, and shake my head. "Fine."

I get him in the back of the seat, and scoot back as far to the other side of the car as I can. I'm not risking any of this, not right now.

"Just go to sleep." I tell him, and without warning, his head collapses to my lap, and he trips into a deep sleep, leaving me with every question in the world. I need to think... i just... i just need to go get some air. I open the door and swing one of my legs out.

"No you arse!" he says. "Don't...d-don't leave me..."

I sigh, and quirk half a smile. Swinging my legs back inside the car, I shut it, and the sound of wind and cars is replaced by Murdoc's heavy breathing. Sleep breathing, thank god...but what the hell? What is_ this_, I mean I've seen him drunk before, wasted even! He's held a drink before, why so suddenly is he acting so... weird. It's almost nice...WAIT, NO ITS NOT!

"Don't leave..." He mutters in his sleep.

I smile, and sigh. "Yeah, I won't."

And in this moment of what the hell, and confusion. Something rises. Something, definitely not good. And to be more descriptive, something... in my pants...

**NOTE: Things are getting quicker, I promise you that Still deciding how..descriptive, (if you know what I mean ;) ) I should make things. Review, and tell me what you think **


	9. 9: These Things Do Happen?

**Chapter 9: These Things do happen?**

**WARNING: BLARGHHH INAPROPRIATNESS :( And you all know what I mean, but please try to understand: P Ha-ha, so if you're not into...ehem...seedy like things, than i suggest maybe not reading this? But you still should anyways :) BWAHAHAHA**

It's funny how a burning ball of light, billions of miles away, still has the power to bring you out of a decent sleep, into a world where things aren't so decent. It pours through the car window, and into my closed eyes, peeling me away from my sleep. How'd I get in Murdoc's car? And why is he on my lap? Oh yeah... Last night was his little drunk spree, filled with pissed off people and... Confessions. This is not going to be a good day. My eyes roll onto the sleeping Murdoc, who lies breathing slowly, but somehow heavily. And he looks so happy...But he's not going to be drunk anymore when he wakes up, just tired and hung-over. And when he sees he's in my lap, he's going to be extremely pissed.

Let's see... how should i go about moving his head off of me? I'll just shove it I guess. I gently attempt to push his head off my lap. If I can just get it off...Too late. A tired eye opens, and Murdoc is awake. No doubt about that. In a second, he realizes where he is, and that he REALLY doesn't want to be there. He jolts upwards, and his eyes widen.

"Wh- what the fuck? WHY AM I HERE?"

"You fell asleep on me!" I say nervously. "I tried to move you..but you-"

"Shit, my head..." He scoots away, and out the car door into the early air, and off to the gas station bathroom. Okay... so Murdoc just woke up on my lap... and he didnt kill me? What the fuck? What even- Oh shit?

The memory of last night pops into my head, and though nothing happened...somthing happened. Something happened to me. Or rather... my dick. Did it really-...And why at that moment, I mean it's not like I was _aroused_..._was I?_

The driver door opens abruptly, and Murdoc climbs in without a word, and starts up the car, hand still to his head. He's got to be hung-over as hell.

"Err... Murdoc?" I ask. "You sure you wanna drive? I mean you're probably-"

"I'm fine, leave it." He warns.

"But your head must be spinning-"

"Don't worry about it."

I leave it at that, and hop over the center console (much like the way he tried to last night) up to the passenger side. I click in and slowly turn my head to him, in one last friendly effort.

"You sure?"

He nods wordlessly. And nothing else was said, until we made it to the parking garage at Kong.

"Should we tell Noodle were back?" I ask.

"Don't wake her." He mutters, and fades off to his Winnebago, locking the door behind him. He's right though, it is early. Only seven forty three...I'm just gonna go off to bed. I make my way up to the lobby, and almost to my bedroom, when-

"2D!" I spin around to see Noodle standing there in her pajamas looking less than pleased.

"What happened?" she asks. "Where's Murdoc?"

Alright, I need a quick lie... Something tells me Murdoc wouldn't want Noodle knowing about this situation...

"We got a bit thrashed... and we passed out in some parking lot..." Well that wasn't a very good lie; she's still going to worry...

"So... You're getting along okay?" She asks surprisingly.

"Yeah... fine."

"Good." she says. "I'm going to go back to bed. Bye."

I wave her off, and begin to head off to my own bedroom... But... no. I'll see where Murdoc hides his booze... I need a drink.  
_

**1 Week Later:**

A yellow cab marks Noodle's Leaving to somewhere she won't tell us.

"How long are you going for?" I ask, packing a colorful bag tightly into the trunk.

"I don't know." She says. "You can't force musical inspiration, you know."

I nod. "I guess you can't. Just don't be gone to long, we need to crack this album out don't we?"

"And we will, just be patient."

"I know, I know." I groan, as she pulls me into a tight hug.

"If Russell gets here while I'm gone, tell him not to worry."

"I will. I thought Murdoc was coming down to say goodbye to you?"

She shrugs. "He said some kind of goodbye inside. He's acting weird lately. Weirder than usual."

I nervously tug at my collar. "I haven't noticed anything..."

A honk alerts noodle that she needs to leave.

"I should go." She says. "Take care of Murdoc." Yeah, if I can.

"I will. Bye!"

"Bye!" She hops through the taxi window, into the car, and waves me off. And...She's gone. Leaving me to deal with...him. Thanks noodle. Thanks loads.

It's hard enough dealing with him when Noodle's gone, but with this past week and its awkwardness... I don't even know how I'm gonna do this! He's just been acting so weird lately... Just... the stuff he said to me... I can't help wondering if he meant it...

I wonder where my copy of the Exorcist has gone... Damn, I was gonna watch that tonight, and I can't find it anywhere. Maybe Murdoc took it? He _does _love movies that involve Satan and anything having to do with the occult. Maybe I'll ask him? No, no, talking to him is the _last _thing I should do right now. I don't wanna go stirring anything up. But I want my movie!

Bah, whatever, I'll just watch something else... _28 days later _maybe? Yeah, I guess that might do...

I open the cupboard where the movies are usually kept... to see that all that's left is noodle's seasons of _School Days,_, Russells excercise tapes, and _Friday._ Oh, he would have that. All my movies are gone... I wonder if Murdoc did take them. I hate to point fingers...but i will anyway. Still, I'm not talking to him... School days... I wonder what that is. It's one of noodles shows. Burned copies, so I can't really see what it's about. Maybe it's some kind of samurai movie? She loves those.

Eight long, weird hours later, ive watched each twelve episodes of a crappy anime. Why I did? I don't know. Well... ive almost watched every episode, this ones got thirty or so minutes left.

I lye back on the couch, draped under a blue blanket that seems to go on forever, waiting to see what happens next, when footsteps send a shock to my brain.

"D, where's-" Murdoc asks, stopping in his tracks and cocking his head. I turn around to see him raising an eyebrow, with a black duffle bag draped over his shoulder.

"What in the hell are you watching?"

I fumble around for the remote, knocking things onto the floor. Where's the remote? OH god he thinks I'm watching cartoons...

"Are you watching Noodle's cartoons?"

"Err... no, this just...came on!" I protest, searching for the remote.

"Err...alright?"

I find the remote, and quickly click the TV off.

"Alright... I'm just gonna go." Murdoc walks off, leaving me red in the face. I build up some courage.

"Do you know where my films are?"

He shrugs. "Dunno. Where the movies usually are."

I shake my head. "I know, I looked there. They weren't."

Shrugging, he begins to walk off.

"Well, I don't know, just look."

A little more courage finds its way to my guts, and I speak up.

"Did you... watch them?"

"NO, I didn't watch your stupid movies, now-" He swings the duffle bag over his shoulder to find out that it was unzipped...Out falls some of his dirty clothes, an amplifier cord, and... My movies. All the ones I'm missing. His eyes widen as he notices what's just happened. My eyes dart from the movies, to him, to the movies, and back to him.

"Why'd you steal my films?" I ask bleakly.

"I didn't steal them!" He sneers. "I...I..."

"You what?"

"I don't know... whatever." He grumbles and walks out. No, just no.

"What is this?" I ask a new found anger hot in my chest. "What's your deal lately?"

He turns around slowly, whipping his head over to me. "What?"

I take a deep breath, and step closer. The world around seems to grow quiet.

"I said, what's your deal?"

"I don't HAVE one." He snaps. "What's yours?"

I sigh angrily, and put my foot down. "I asked you. You're the one being all weird lately."

"I'm not being weird..."

I glower my eyes into a pissed off glare.

"What the fuck are you talking about? EVER since we've gotten back here you've been saying weird things, and just..."

He turns around and cuts me off, flipping me the bird.

"I have no idea what you're talking about..."

"Fuck You." I mutter turning around, and going back to the couch, sinking into the cushions.

"Fuck you back."

"YOU DO THAT."I shout, not realizing how that sounded.

In the distance, he begins to mutter. "Maybe I will..."

What? WHAT?

I stand up and burn my eyes into his back just as he's about to leave.

"What did you just say?" I ask.

He shrugs, and begins to walk back. "You said fuck you back, I said maybe I will."

"THAT'S THE KIND OF WEIRD THING IM TALKING ABOUT!" I shout.

"Again, I don't know what you're talking about?"

A hot burning anger swishes inside my body, and finds its way out in my words.

"You were drunk." I explain, in a hushed anger. "And you said things..."

He glares at me, that ruby eye seeming to cast a red glow.

"I know what I said."

The quietness grows before I speak up.

"You know what you said?"

The clack of his shoes brings him over, echoing in the quiet living room, and he's less than two feet away from me.

" .Of it."

"And..." I ask quietly. "Did you mean any of it?"

"I don't mean alot of things." He mutters. "But that wasn't one of them."

Out of nowhere, every feeling ive ever had towards him, anger, hate, sickness. They all fade off, and all that's left is one feeling. I'm not even sure what it is.

"I wasn't even that drunk." He whispers.

His eyes nail into me softly, making my stomach quiver.

"So...what now-?" I ask quietly, but interrupted by the impulse push of a pair of warm lips. And suddenly this is all I've ever wanted, and every feeling of protest that pushes against the walls inside me, fails to escape. _This is what I want._

What starts out as a slow simple kiss changes quickly. Shoving me softly into the nearest wall, he pushes a long slippery tongue around every corner of my mouth, swirling and whooshing it like I've never felt, and slipping it down farther every second. Disconnecting our wet lips for a second, he pulls my shirt off over my head, than removing his own quickly, and reuniting our mouths. His clammy hands move farther down my back, digging into my hips, my hands searching for something to grab. Fuck, what do I grab? I'm not good at this HE is. Well, ofcourse I'm not good at this, I've never been with a guy. How far is this gonna go? He breaks our connection by the lips again for a moment, to pick me up surprisingly (I wonder if sexual things make you stronger?) and hurries us over to the couch, where he drops me down and continues with the...you know...making out. Lord this is awkward, I'm not doing much, except sitting there and letting him do stuff to me while I lye there stupidly. I mean with women, I'm usually in charge...but now...

He pulls free of my mouth, and moves on to my neck, sucking at it with the makings of a hickey. Whoa...that feels weird. But kind of good... Uncontrollably, a noise escapes my throat, and the echo of it in the quiet studio sounds eerie. The fact that it's coming from me... and what's caused it... The lack of couch underneath me causes me to crash to the floor on my back. Good going Stu. Murdoc looks down, and half a smile spreads into a smile. He cups a hand over his mouth, and a laugh spurts out. I quickly attempt to get back up, when he just shoves me back down and gets on the floor himself. He moves to my chest, suckling and creating a second hickey. But what do I do? I'm just lying there making noises, and pretending to do stuff. You know what? Maybe I'll try something... Breaking free once again, I flip him over so IM on top. Hah! Now, were going somewhere! Digging my short fingernails into his palms, I move my mouth to his stomach, sucking like he did, as he slips his own pants off, and than mine. After a few minutes, he comes up for air and breaks free of all this, springing up to a sit.

"What's wrong?" I ask lushly. "Did I do something wrong?"

"Not at all." He says, pulling off his underwear and tossing it aside. DAMN IT his is bigger than mine. Maybe I won't have to take mine off-

"Now you..." He says, leaning into me to nibble softly at my neck, attempting to pull down at the elastic on my underpants. I flinch back.

"I don't know..." I say nervously, pulling him up by his shoulders.

He laughs a bit and leans into me. "You'll be alright. As long as it's the two of us. What can go wrong?"

A thought drifts into my head: A preacher stands in his black uniform in front of a long red coffin:_ We are gathered here today for the Funeral of Murdoc Niccals. His death was a sad, shameful one: When engaging in gay intercourse with his friend, (or whatever the fuck he was) Stuart Pot, Young Murdoc Burst into a fiery flame, and burned to death. Satan Bless his soul._

Oh shit, what if I catch him on fire? Oh whatever, how could that even-?

"Stuart." Murdoc murmurs. "Are you ready?"

I nod. "But... dont you, have anything?"

He cocks his head. "Have anything? You're not a woman; you're not going to get pregnant."

"No, not like that..." I say quietly. "Like...like something to-"

"Like lube?" He asks.

I nod again. "Err... yeah?"

"Wait, I think I have some Vaseline..." I say. "Upstairs in the bathroom cabinet."

I stare at him, half expecting him to go get it.

"You lazy fuck." He jokes, and gets up from the floor, running up to get it. So what do I do now? Just sit here? I mean... i can't belive im doing this...This is just so...weird and sudden. Why haven't I felt this way before now? Have I? And why does my foot itch so badly?

I scratch my foot and sit patiently on the floor, though my lower half feels ready to burst. Murdoc quickly emerges from the stairway, with a little greasy tube. He hurries over and sits down to the floor where I am.

"So... How do we...err start this?" I ask, still unsure if I want to be doing this or not. Do I want to? Should I-

Murdoc pushes his tongue through my closed mouth, forcing it through, and pushing me down to my back. Yeah, I think I wanna do this.

"Okay." He says, pulling back. "Are we ready?"

I exhale and nod, due to the fact that I'm about to paint the living room white.

"I think so."

I try not to look as he greases his...ehem. Wow what do I do while he's doing that? Get into position? Why aren't I in back? Obvious reasons, I'm not that masculine.

"Alright." He whispers, grabbing me by the arms and turning me around. Oh god, I'm nervous, shit, shit, shit!

"Bend over." He mutters. And though against every feeling that tells me to resist, I do as he says. Awaiting the pain, it definitely comes. An immediate prick of pain strikes me in the rear as he pushes himself in, and moves forward and backward. Oh my god, this hurts like hell... but it feels right... The noises escape my mouth, one after another like bullets, and from him too.

"You're alright." He reassures me. "Everything will be okay."

_"Everything will be okay"_ His words stick to my head, as he moves back and forth, connecting every part of us in ways I never imagined. Sweat covers every inch of me, rubbing off on to him. And His onto mine. And then the thought strikes me.

_What if I had to take a shit?_

I brush it off, as the pain like needles hits me. Murdoc notices this, and caresses my head in a comforting motion.

"Does it hurt?"

I nod. "Yeah, a bit."

"Ill be softer."

He shifts a bit, and the pain lessens, slowly bringing in some sort of pleasure. A kind that I've never been familiar with before now.

"Now?" He asks.

Trying to answer, all that escapes my mouth is a stifled moan that comes out in chunks.

"Ill take that as a yes." He laughs, moving faster and yet slower at the same time. Each thrust seems harder and softer, and just everything in between. The pleasure begins to heighten, little by little, bringing less pain and more of this new found pleasure.

"Stuart."Murdoc begins to say softly. "Stuart, you're amazing."

But I can't bring myself to reply through my own breath and moaning.

"M-Mudsie!" I shout, against my own will. What the fuck? Why the hell did I just call him that?

He stops for a moment, and a laugh trips out of him.

"What did you call me?"

'I...I...I dont-" I stutter

"Forget it." He says, picking up the thrusts again.

"You can call me whatever you want."

When time came, I couldn't hold myself anymore, and let myself go with one last heightened noise and well...err...spilling out. A minute or so later, the same happens with Murdoc, and he let his go too, dropping us both to a lay down. We both lye sweaty, and collapsed on the ground, when he grabs his pants and slips them back on casually.

"Wait... where are you going?" I ask, a bit hurt.

"Oh...err...I dont know." He mutters. "Off for a drink, or something."

"You're leaving?" I ask.

He shrugs, and wipes a bead of sweat off his forehead. "I'm sorry..."

And on that, he just goes off. Leaving me there for nothing. I slowly put all my clothes back on, and just sit there, on the floor curled up. Did I do something wrong? Jesus... Too tired, too move, I pull the blue blanket off the couch, and cover myself with it. Drifting off to a cold sleep. Without anyone, or anything but a new weight on my shoulders.

**NOTE: OH MY GOD I CANT BELIVE THAT JUST CAME OUT OF MY HEAD, BLARGHH IM GONNA BARF I CANT BELIEVE I JUST WROTE THAT OH GOD. Meh, im over it. Or not. :P Blahahaha, please review, and tell me your opinions :)**


	10. 10: What We've Done

**Chapter 10: What we've done (REVIEWERS VOTE!)**

**NOTE: READER VOTE IN THIS CHAPTER AT THE END! So at the end of this chapter, there's a question, where YOU guys tell me in the reviews what you think should happen next out of the choices I give you :D yup, you guys decide :) I think I'll do more of these later on too...**

_What the fuck have I done...?_

This thought awakes me, and I lie on a cold floor with a blanket wrapped around me, and every inch of my soul wrapped with regret. I've no doubt, ruined everything for Gorillaz. Murdoc's gonna run off, and leave because of all this, and then the band's going to fail, and I'll be back in Crawley, living as the Boy who did _things_ with Murdoc Niccals. I lift myself up from the floor, and gaze around at the remnants of last night. Rugs turned over, couch cushions on the floor, we'd even managed to knock over a vase and crack it to pieces. I wonder when that happened... And what do I do now? Seriously, do I just sit here, and pretend like nothing ever happened, like a wasn't all of the sudden a gay last night... like things are normal between me and Murdoc?

But then again at the same time... It all felt...so right... Just like everything that happened last night, was supposed to, and that for some reason, while all this regret piles up inside me... some of it doesn't feel like regret.

"Yes, well stardom isnt quite as great as you'd think it is." Murdoc's voice speaks from the hallway. Who's he talking to? And do I even want to see him right now? I probably should. I rise up from where I was on the floor to greet the situation.

Instead of just Murdoc, a tall dark skanky woman lingers on his arm, wearing less clothing than a prostitute...oh wait, she probably is one. But...why is she here?

Murdoc's eyes widen as his eyes realize just what's going on.

"Err...2D." He says. "What are you doing down here?"

He shoots me a look not to answer him honestly, and I just stare before piecing together something to say.

"Muds... what are you doing?"

He turns to his lady with the voluminous black hair, and pushes her ass lightly down the hall.

"You meet me up there than love; I told you where my room was. I'll be right up."

As soon as she's out of hearing distance, Murdoc speaks up.

"What do you mean what am I doing, I'm getting some tail."

"But-" I say. "I thought that-"

"Listen D, we'll err...talk later..."

"No, I think we should talk about this now..." I say a bit harshly.

He looks around in a frustrated way.

"Come on, I've got to go-"

"Muds...Please."

He sighs, and puts his head down for a moment, before just walking off.

"Fuck, Stuart this isnt the time

The couch draws me in, and I collapse to it. I just feel…_awful_. It feels like he just threw me to the ground and twisted me into the dirt, like the burning end of a cigarette. (Not litterly... though he's done that before.)

After a while of sitting on the couch and listening to my thoughts complain to me, I come to the conclusion that all I _really_ want is a shower and a few pills. So on that, I set up to the showers and take my clothes off for the second time in the last ten hours, and drop them to the floor, turning to the mirror... And it's kind of hard to look at myself. It's like... im a different Stuart now...a Stuart with something white in his hair- OH GROSS. Is there really... _this... _in my hair right now? Jeez Muds, you'd think you'd be able to control your aim a bit better...Or is that what you wanted? Oh god Im getting sick minded. I turn away from my reflection, and leave it for some hot running water. I've only been standing under the hot spray for about a minute, when thoughts and words begin to run for their lives in my head.

_So he just decided to bring another woman in, not ten hours after we…did things..._

God dammit, it's Murdoc Im talking about here, though! What did I expect, a relationship?

I don't know... I don't know what I thought, and I don't know exactly how I feel about last night. I don't know if it feels terrible, or amazing, or both at the same time. All I know for sure is that last night was some form of mistake, weather it was a good one or not. And _god _does my arse hurt. Along with every inch of my brain, and the arch of my back. I guess falling off the couch sort of took a toll on me... err... along with everything else.

After I'm all soaped up, and then soaped down again, I leave the shower cubicle, my hair free from sticky bodily fluid. Wow, that sounded gross. Now my next mission is to go find some pills. Fuck, I need to refill my prescription. Its times like this I wonder why I don't have a car... Maybe I could go a little bit without them? No, the aching in my head and back protest against that. I could just ask Murdoc for the keys to his car? But I can't drive like this... last time I tried to drive with a headache; I nearly swerved off the road... But that was only once... So, this time will probably be okay.

I make my way down to Murdoc's bedroom door and decide how I should do this. Damn, I'm just asking for the keys, it's not like I'm telling him he's got days left to live. Guess I'll just knock.

I lightly beat my fist down a few times on a door covered by stickers and inverted crosses. No answer, but just the sound of Murdoc getting intimate with some woman. I don't think their doing anything yet. I know from _experience_. I knock a few more times, this time louder.

"Blazes, what the hell do you want?" Murdoc groans.

"Can I borrow your car?" I ask quietly.

"Ofcourse not." He answers quickly "Now scram."

"I need to refill my prescription!"

"Not my problem."

"Muds, please?" I sigh. "Tomorrow's Sunday an I can't get em on Sundays."

The door swings open abruptly, nearly hitting me in the head. Murdoc stands, half undressed, and fully pissed. Still, it's completely awkward to see him, and warmth blurs my cheeks into what's probably a rosy shade of red.

"I ought to caphstrate you." He hisses, finger jabbing me in the chest.

"Sorry." I mutter. "Can I just borrow your car? I'll get it back in one piece, I promise."

"I don't see why I should lend you _anything_, seeing as how rudely you've interrupted me."

I shrug, and turn my head, starting to walk off with my hands in my pockets, when something hits me in the back of the head, and falls to the ground. Murdoc's car keys. Turning back around to thank him, the door slams before me. I sigh, and walk off. Half expecting him to maybe open the door and say something else...But he's Murdoc Niccals. And he doesn't do that kind of stuff. Ever.

With the pharmacy not far away from me and Murdoc's car, neither are my pills, which mean I can just let go of some stuff and feel alright for a while. At times like this, feeling alright is everything. And currently, I feel like absolute shit. My head feels like it's in flames, my back aches, and I just flat out feel sick to my stomach. I hate driving with headaches... And this is all Murdoc's fault. If he hadn't gone and attacked me by the mouth last night, I wouldn't have a stress headache, and I could have just gone and picked my pills up tomorrow. But he DID attack me by the mouth last night, and here I am nearly-

My thoughts overpower me, and the car begins to swerve a bit. A sea of honks bleeps out from behind me. Jesus Stuart, get it together! But why should I have to get it together? Its Murdoc who needs to get his priorities worked out. _Fuck, my head feels like it's about to burst..._ _and im so tired..._

I shake my head and focus back on the road. Maybe I should pull over? No... The drugstore is close enough, I can make it.

_"Stuart, you're amazing." _GAHH! Stop thinking about that! Stop stop stop!

His words rush into my head, bringing more aches with each one.

"_You'll be alright. As long as it's the two of us. What can go wrong?"_ EVERYTHING can go wrong, that's what. So quiet yourself up echoey Murdoc voice.

_"Give it time, maybe he's found some sort of new happiness." _Now noodle's voice is here too eh? Well why you both don't just leave…The road in front of me blurs and swishes itself into a Technicolor streaks, raving around. God, my head…Maybe if I just…Lay back.-... and go to sleep…just for..a little….

Sleep is the most wonderful thing, anyone will ever come across. The second is Love. Or... was it the other way around? But in sleep, nothing matters, and nobody has to care about anything. You can just drift off for as long as you like, float for an eternity than turns out to only be an hour. Than... eventually, you find out that this eternity was only an hour. That's when you wake up...and you return to the real world, where hours are actually hours, and everything pretty much sucks... or not.. It really depends on your mood... And I bet you can guess which I'm in.

My eyes, one at a time open to come upon the situation. A white room, with hospital like things sits in my viewing, as the sounds of bleeps and bloops fill my ears. The sounds of the hospital.

A grey haired man stands, looking at me like Im some kind of zoo animal. Am I in a bed?

"Are you awake?" The man asks.

"Yeah, I am." I answer tiredly.

"Good. How are you feeling?" the ultimate doctor question.

I shift myself up in the hard cloud of a bed. "Err...alright."

He scribbles something down on a clipboard. "Good. No head pains?"

I shrug. "A little... What happened?"

"First, I have to ask you a few things, if you don't mind." The grey haired man says calmingly as he sits himself in a chair beside my bed. I nod in acceptance.

"Young man, have things in your life been alright lately?"

"What'd you mean?" I ask nervously.

"How has your life been? Have you been sad, happy, melancholy?"

Melancholy. Now there's a funny word.

"I've...been okay." I lie.

He nods, and scratches something down on his paper.

"I understand you've had headache problems?"

I raise an eyebrow at this. "How do you know that?"

"We've phoned your parents. Your mother told me you have frequent headaches?"

I nod sheepishly.

"And... if these headaches aren't dealt with by medication... You tend to get sick, or pass out?"

"Is that what happened?" I ask, shocked. "What happened, why am I here?"

The doctor sighs, and looks me in the eye.

"While driving, you fainted and ran off road into a tree. No worries, you were asleep when we found you."

My heart, the organ that's supposed to keep me alive, stops in my chest.

"I... I crashed the car?"

He nods. "Yes, but thankfully, you escaped with just a broken wrist, a few bruises and scratches, and no major head trauma." My eyes look to my wrist out of instinct. A bright red cast wrap surrounds it. Im alright... _but Murdoc's going to kill me._

"What about the car?" I ask shakily. "Is it okay?"

"I wouldn't worry about the car." The doctor comforts me.

"But, is it trashed?"

"The car... was quite damaged, yes..." Oh He's going to murder me... If the crash didn't kill me, Murdoc's gonna finish the job. I lay a hand over my face in disgrace.

"What we'd like to know now, is if you're feeling well enough to go home?"

I sigh, and nod due to the fact that I really hate sleeping in hospitals.

"Im fine."

He nods and smiles. "Alright, that's all I needed to know. The nurse is just going to do a few tests to make sure your fit to leave, and you can get dressed, and check out.

"Wait!" I say as he begins to leave the room.

"I don't have a ride.. Do I just take a cab or something."

"Oh, you've got a ride. Don't worry son."

I cock my head. "Who?"

"Your friend Murdoc agreed to drive you back."

My eyelids rise and widen at this as my mouth hangs open like a broken drawer.

"Murdoc?" I ask quietly. "How... how did he know?"

The doctor shakes his head.

"He didn't. You woke up for a minute when we brought you in, and we asked you who to notify. You said, Murdoc. It took us a while to figure out who "Murdoc" was, since you never gave us a last name-"

"I said that? I asked for him?"

"Yes." He answers impatiently. "Now Im sending the nurse in to test you, okay?" I agree, and the man leaves, only to send in a bumbling nurse with a tight little nose and big green eyes, shaded by choppy straw colored hair. Her name tag reads: _Shelley_

"You... are just SO familiar!" She says for the third time, squeezing my arm for some kind of procedure.

"I feel like I've seen you like- everywhere."

I shrug. "Weird..." I like my fans, I do... I just don't feel like dealing with anything like that now. A bit of comfortable silence passes, before Shelley squeaks up again.

"You must really love your friend... I've never seen anything so cute-"

"Wait, what?" I ask. "What are you talking about?"

She shrugs animatedly. "Oh, I dunno, it's just his name was pretty much all you mentioned in that minute you were awake!"

"Err." I stutter nervously. "What exactly did I say?

"Oh... just stuff like... _"Where's Murdoc?"_ and... "_I want to see Murdoc" _

My eyes widen again, as Shelley finishes up her testing.

"Alright, you look fit to leave. Take care of that wrist...You alright? You look like you've seen a ghost."

_Yeah, something likes that..._ I think to myself.

"Oh... Im fine..." I answer. "I just... I should go get dressed."

She smiles and skips off out the door, only to turn back.

"Oh, wait!" She says, putting her pointer finger up. "You also said... You said: _Tell him he's amazing too. _You must be great friends.."

A bright red cast, wrapped around my wrist, stands out in the dark parking lot as I stroll slowly around; looking for the grey pickup the doctor's told me to look for. Why's Murdoc driving a pickup? Oh yeah... I crashed his car, and now I'm about to stare death in the face. But where is this so called grey pickup? I bet he's not even here... I bet he just told the hospital he'd be here so that I'd be waiting for nothing in a cold parking lot at twelve o clock at night. That arse- but in the distance, a grey pickup sits almost tucked behind the hospital building, its headlights (just switched on) glaring in hopes of blinding me. There it is. Prepare to die Stuart. I walk towards the truck, in the vicious glare of a pair of white headlights that make me completely visible to him. I bet he's about ready to gun me right now. My feet take me around the truck, to the passenger seat, where I climb in without even looking at him. I don't think I even can. My stomach does acrobatics in me, as I buckle in, and he begins to drive off, away from the hospital. I keep my head down, in complete shame as the car ride goes on. And the worst part is, the hospital is at least an hour away from Kong. I have to say something; I can't keep this all quiet for an hour...

I open my dry mouth slowly. "Im sorry-"

"Just...dont." he says quietly. Shame rushes into my brain.

I try again. "Thanks for picking me up..."

A bitter look sticks to his face, and doesn't change. Fuck, I ruin _everything_. A good fifteen minutes passes, before were on a long empty road, and Murdoc speaks up.

"You _had _to fucking fall asleep." He grumbles.

"Oh so _now_ you talk." I sigh.

"Fucking fell asleep..." He repeats. "Classic."

"I passed out, and I said I was sorry!" I protest.

"My car...straight into a tree."

"What else do you want me to say?" I shout. "Im sorry! It was a fucking accident! What is else is there for me to do about it?"

"I want you to go back in time, and not crash my car in a damn tree, that's what you can do..."

"Yeah, well I can't do that." I scoff, folding my arms and turning my head out the window and drifting us off into another short silence.

"Just because I didn't want to have a prissy little _talk_ with you doesn't mean you has the right to crash my fucking car into a tree."

I whip my head over to him, anger hot in my chest.

"Is THAT what you think this is about? You think I nearly killed myself because you don't want to talk about what happened last night?"

"Because NOTHING happened last night."

I glower my eyes. "What?"

"Yup."

"You can't just...PRETEND LIKE NOTHING HAPPENED, BECAUSE IT DID." I snap, unleashing the heat in my chest.

"YOU THINK I DON'T KNOW THAT?" he shouts, taking a deep breath, and focusing in on the road.

"Listen... What happened last night was just sex. Nothing else. Understand?"

I stay quiet.

"Just sex..." He mutters again.

"But...why?" I ask. "Why then, I mean why did we even-…Just, why?"

He shrugs. "Timing, I guess. I needed something, you needed something, and we were both there at the same time...and... It happened."

I shake my head. "Whatever..."

"Think of it as..." He pauses for a moment to think. "A mate to mate service. Not anything lovey, just a service. Like a favor."

I slowly turn my head over to him, and the sound of his voice softening lessens my anger.

"Like... mates with benefits?"

He nods and shrugs. "Yeah... even so less than that... Like... an associate to associate partnership. Again, nothing lovey."

I sigh, and let it go...ready for the silence again... but I can't have that can I?

"Ofcourse, that doesn't make it okay for you to FUCKING CRASH MY CAR."

"Oh you HAD to bring this up again didn't you? You couldn't just leave it-"

"Nope."He Hisses. "Because you had to go and be the fucking stupid idiot you always are, and crash my god damn car into A TREE."

The rage built up inside me decides to blow.

"THAT'S IT PULL OVER." I shout sternly.

"What? Why?"

"IM GETTING OUT, PULL THE FUCK OVER."

He shakes his head. "Stuart, keep your pants on! Calm down woman.

"I fucking _swear.._." I start out. "If you don't pull over Im GETTING OUT MYSELF."

"Than I guess you're jumping out." He laughs evilly. It sickens me. In fact, it sickens me enough to unlatch my seatbelt and pull up the door lock.

"What are you doing?"

Without another thought, I pry the door open against the wind, and swing my legs out as Murdoc begins to slow down. I tuck, and roll out the car door, tumbling onto a patch of grass. The car slams on the breaks. I get up, and wipe the dirt of my knees, beginning to walk off down the side of the road.

"2D." Murdoc shouts.

"GET YOUR ARSE BACK OVER HERE."

"YOU KNOW MY REAL FUCKING NAME." I shout back, not looking behind me where he is, as my feet scale the pavement, walking on.

"Stuart." He sighs. "Come on; just get back in the car."

Without so much as a scoff, I clomp my angry feet down the side of the road. His voice fades off, and it looks like I've lost him. Good. But... which way is home from here... and how will I-

Those same white headlights sneak up from behind me.

"Oh, hello Stu." Murdoc says casually, sticking his head out the window from beside me. "I heard it's supposed to rain tonight."

I don't reply, and he just drives slowly, on and on right beside me. It's clear he's not going anywhere.

Five minutes pass... and than ten... and than twenty. Than something hits my nose. Not car keys, or a screw driver, or a wrench... But a bead of water. He's right...It is raining. Than another drop falls. Than more, and more, and pretty soon they're coming from every direction, soaking me. This is just fucking great, what is this, _the notebook?_ Fuck, come on rain, just stop it you're not gonna make anything more dramatic, you're just going to piss me off.

"Err...stu?" Murdoc says from the window, sounding a bit concerned.

"Its getting wet out there...why doesn't you just stop being dramatic and get in the car, huh?"

I keep hush as the rain soaks my head. Soon enough, in the distance, a bus stop appears. _Perfect_. There's a late night bus around here I think... I could take that to... wherever, somewhere..._Anywhere._ I've got some money; I could stay in a motel for a night or something. That sounds alright...i'll take the night bus to wherever...

Under the bus sign, a damp wooden bench sits wetted by the rain, but I'm already soaked, so what does it matter. I take a seat, and stare solemnly at nothing, until the grey pickup pulls up in front of me.

"What are you doing?" Murdoc asks.

"None of your concern."

"Yeah, it is." He scoffs. "Get in the car!"

"No." I protest. "Just leave."

He sighs. "Stuart, your cast is getting wet, and that can't be good for it. Just get the _hell _in the car."

I look down at the red cast around my right wrist. Water is starting to seep in. He's right… But Im still not getting in.

"Why are you doing this?" He says slowly.

"BECAUSE YOU PISS ME OFF, ALRIGHT?" I yell, as his expression turns worried.

Our eyes meet directly, and rage pours out my open mouth. "FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE, THINK OF HOW SOMEONE ELSE FEELS, AND HOW FUCKING DIFICULT IT IS TO DEAL WITH YOU!"

I put my head down and shake it. "I crashed into a FUCKING TREE...I could have flown through the windshield..."

The stillness sits, untouched by sound for a moment before I add something.

"You never once even asked if I was okay." The rain beats down, making itself the only sound around us

"…are you okay?" he asks bleakly.

I look up to him. "I was. Now I'm not so sure."

He heaves a great sigh.

"Stuart ... I'm sorry. Alright? I don't care about the fucking car anymore, just get in..."

On the last of his words, what sounds like a dragon, buts' really a bus pulls up behind Murdoc, and opens its doors. I get to my feet, and make for the bus. But Murdoc catches my eye...

"Stu... come on."

A blemished woman looks down at me from the bus.

"Well, are you getting on or not?"

I look from her, to Murdoc, from her... and back to Murdoc.

"Please." He says. "Just get in..."

I stand in front of the two... the bus and the truck, and the world seems to spin around my stupid head. But what the hell do I do? Is Murdoc really sorry? And what happens if I get in? Will we fight again, or will everything just be normal... As normal as it can be... But there is the chance, that I'll get in and he'll just shout at me for crashing his car again... I sigh, and pick my head up staring into the rain, and my two choices. And I know what I have to do….

_**YOU CHOOSE!**_** O.O a bit of a cliff hanger there :P Will 2D get on the bus, or Get in Murdoc's car? Stay tuned and find out in the next chapter of... *theme music* GORILLAZ MATE FOR LIFE! **_**It's actually, your guys' choice.**_

**Review, and tell me what you think do you think 2D should get on the bus, or get in Murdoc's car? This is LITTERLY a reviewers choice, so if I get enough reviews for one choice, that's the one I do. Either way, I promise it will be something good, and cute or something, but this is a vote!**

***This also means that I can't start writing this chapter until I get enough reviews for the choice, so if you read this, it'd be really awesome if you could review it and tell me your choice so I can get started on the next chapter.***

**:D Tell meh **

**Should 2D:**

**A: Get on the bus.**

**B: Get in the car with Murdoc.**

**TELL MEH IN THE REVIEWS **

**Thanks you alls :)**


	11. 11: Nothing More

**THANKS YOU ALL FOR VOTING! It means so much, all of you that read this, is really does ****J**** Just thank you all so much :) So yes, one of the options was chosen, but somone (whoever you are, your idea rocked :) ) gave me an idea in the reviews that i DID end up using in part of this. So whoever you are, thank you for the idea :) **

**WARNING: More inapropriatness in this chapter (if you know what i mean :) )**

**Chapter 11: Nothing More**

Under heavy spitting rain, A longing red ruby of an eye pleads me to come with. Pleads me to just get in the car, and come home like everything will be better again .. But that's not going to happen, is it? Ofcourse not..

"Stuart.." Murdoc says. "Get in the damn car…"

I shake my head and let a shaky breath out.

"Sod off."

The less than enticing aroma of sweat socks and homeless people fills my nose as I tread the steep bus stairs.. and pay the driver. And with every step I take twords the back of the bus, something tells me to go back. Something tells me to just.. walk back out and hop in the car and be warm and safe.. But I plant myself to a cold plastic bus seat anyways, and let little beads of bitter rainwater drip out the strands of my wet hair, to a narrow floor. I turn and look out the window, to see Murdoc staring wide eyed at the bus as it departs. He gets farther, and farther away as the bus speeds off, until the truck's white headlights are just a bright gleam in the distance. The inside of the bus is unfilled and empty, with only me and the bus driver..And where am I going? Where the _hell _am I going, I don't know where to go! But wherever will do..

"So." The driver's voice creeps up on me from the front.

"Why would you take a shitty bus, if you had a perfectly good ride, kid?"

That's the thing.. it wasn't perfectly good.

I shrug. "I don't know."

"Damn kid, you must be stupid."

I really must be… But really.. I know Murdoc's terrible and horrible and all.. but how could he be that selfish? I know I crashed his car, and I'm sorry.. but I could have been hurt too. Hell, I snapped my wrist.. But again.. this is Murdoc were talking about here..And he doesn't give a shit. Never has, never will.

Outside my window, drop upon drop of rain falls sideways at the speed were going, splattering to sleeping cars, as the bus trip grows shorter, and shorter, and than comes to a stop.

"Will this do?" The woman asks.

"Is.. there a motel nearby?"

" The Cozy Captain is just around the corner.. Big Boat statue thing in front. Cant miss it."

Cozy captain? Sounds weird.. It'll have to do though.. I get up from my seat, and walk the length of the bus, stepping out into the bitter rain again.

"You shoulda gotten in the car.." The driver sighs, as the doors close on me, and the bus speeds out of view, revealing a small, lit up sort of strip of a town, with a few gas stations, and shops and things like that. This must be where the motel is.. Lets see here.. giant boat?

In the distance, a wooden statue of a fishingboat stands out in the open, before a two story shabby looking motel. The cozy captain.. This must be it. Well.. lets see how cozy it really is..

_Click_

A light flickers upon a dirty motel room. A poorly made floral bed, accompanied by two matching nightstands dresses up the room. Doesn't look very cozy. Or captainy for that matter. But either way, it will have to do. I wilt to the bed, and it immediately feels rigid beneath me. I bury my face in a cream colored pillow, letting my wet hair seep into it. For once.. everything is calm, and under control. No indecisive Murdoc, no fights.. just a completely uncomfortable bed, that somehow feels lovely under the circumstances. Now.. I can finally just…sleep…

_"Stuart, you're amazing."_

Murdoc voice… just shut up. Im trying to sleep.

_... I'm sorry. Alright? I don't care about the fucking car anymore, just get in..."_

Stop … just, stop it..

_"You're alright…Everything will be okay."_

Yeah Muds…If you only knew…

I wake again, for the sixth time.

Before.. I said that sleep was the best thing in the world.. Now I cant even do it right. Through this night, I've woken up six times.. And counting. Each time .. for an even stupider reason. Once, I'd thought I'd heard him again.. You can imagine how that went over.. Why cant I just enjoy a solid rest? Half asleep, I close my eyes again after this sixth wake up… Maybe If I close my eyes real hard…

"_STUART!"_

God.. fucking Murdoc voices again. Im too tired for this, just leave me alone..

"_Get up. Get your sluggish arse up."_

Wait.. he's never said that before..Why am I remembering something that never happened?

A rough tug pulls at my shoulder.

"No maid service.." I mutter tiredly. "Come back.. later."

"_Im not a maid you bloody twit, GET UP! Its Murdoc."_ The tugs grow stronger, and I'm pulled up from the bed by my shoulders, by none other than Murdoc. And not even just his voice, he's actually here.

"Wh- what?" I yawn. "What are you doing here?"

"Taking you back. NOW GET UP."

He grabs my shoulder, and I flinch back, standing up myself.

"No! How did you even get here?"

"You have NO idea the hell I went through to find you. Now come on, were leaving." He grabs my un-broken wrist, and attempts to drag me out the door. Once again, I flinch back.

"NO." I shout sternly.

"Im staying here, and your going back to the fucking Studio."

"So what? Your just going to quit the band?"

"I never said that!" I protest. "I just need some time-"

"WELL YOU DON'T GET ANY." On that, he scoops me up by my waist, and swings me over his shoulder, so I dangle like a stray shoelace from him.

"what the fu- LET ME GO!" I bark, upside down. When he refuses to comply, I star to hammer my fists to his back.

"Your still wet." He mutters casually, as he leaves the motel room, and knocks the door closed. Huh.. its still raining.

"Didn't you ever even bother to dry yourself up?"

My fists thump down continually on his back. WHY THE HELL IS HE SO STRONG?

"PUT-ME-DOWN!"

He walks down the outside motel stairs (me over his shoulder), and down to an empty parking lot.

"Only if you agree not to run off."

"ID BE LYING." In a burst of strength, I wriggle out of his arms, and gain a place on the pavement.

"Cant you just.. just let this go?" I ask.

"Stuart, just get the stick out of your arse, and get in the car."

"I told you!" I shake in the cold rain. "Im not going with you, don't you get it?" A cough escapes my sore throat.. Im tired of yelling.. He stays quiet under the sky's cold spray.

"Just.." I say quietly. "Why'd you even come back in the first place? You could have just left me here, I would have been fine." With no answer, he keeps his head down unresponsively.

"Tell me.."

He picks his head up and sighs. "You never said goodbye."

"What?" I quiver. "Don't lie to me.. why did you come here?"

"I want you.." He speaks softly but sharply, with words like barbed clouds.

"To come home."

"Home?" I ask. "You think home, is a place where I'm CONSTANTLY kicked around, and treated like garbage! You think home, is somewhere where someone im supposed to call, my _best _friend cant decide if he hates me, or likes me..or..WHATEVER?"

"shut your mouth." With a rough but gentle push, he shoves me into the side of his mysterious grey truck, (that I still don't know where he got it from) and holds me pinned by my arms.

"You'll wake the motel staff." Slowly and almost in a joint effort, our open mouths join again, letting our tongues play as he pushes me farther into the car. Our mouth tangle goes on for a moment, before I break it.

"People can see us out here.." I whisper hushly.

"Your right.." He mutters, opening the back door to the car. In there? Wow.. that'll be sort of.. a tight fit. Bad word choice there. Not really giving a shit, I slide into the back of the truck, and Murdoc follows in after, joining to be on top of me to join up our mouths again. He twists his long tongue in the same swirls and circles as one of his hands strokes my hand, the other sliding lower and lower, until it sneaks itself inside my jeans, to my throbbing crotch.

"M-Murdoc?" I ask lushly, breaking our lip lock.

"What?" He answers in a hush tone.

I fix my eyes on his. "Why are we doing this..why, again?"

The silence brandishes on as he grazes his teethe slowly down the side of my neck, prickling and causing a slight pain. Still though, he doesn't answer. With his crotch to my leg, I can almost make out a pulsating in his groin. Jesus, its getting warm in here. I take the initiative, and pull my shirt over my head, tossing it aside somewhere as he removes his hand from my pants and loses his own shirt. I cant tell if I'm so soaked because I'm sweating so much, or because I was already soaked. My pants are the next to go, and than his, them being tossed somewhere unknown. He presses his mouth to my neck, and begins to gnaw softly, while his finger traces from my chest, down to my stomach, and all around my crotch, making it pulsate with need.

"Stop." I moan quietly. "Stop teasing me."

"So..what?" He chuckles. "You want it now? You give in quick."

I smile. "Oh, be quiet and do what you do best."

He begins to trace the waste line of my underpants, dragging it down gradually till I'm not wearing them anymore, and they're tossed aside, along with his, after I jerk them off.

"Im assuming your ready?" he says tranquilly, stroking my groin teasingly.

I nod and bite my lip.

"Yeah .. but the..uhh-..we need the..err."

"Just say it Stuart, lube. LUBRICANT." He groans.

"Fine, fine lubricant." I chuckle. "But whatever you wanna call it, we need some.."

"Thought you'd say that." He says, getting up and digging around the truck floor, only to bring up a large yellow bottle.

"Baby oil?" I ask. "Where'd you get that?"

He shrugs. "I thought we might be in need.. I swiped it from a maid's cart up by your motel room. Pouring the oily substance onto his hands, he rubs himself with it as I sort of try to get in a position. I mean.. it IS a small backseat. But i guess we can make this work. I struggle around a bit, trying to find a decent way to bend. He notices this, and laughs lushly.

"Just.. Get sort of on your knees, and bend." He suggests. I do as he says, and contort myself the way he tells me.

"Perfect." He mutters, closing in for the kill. Quicker than last time, but still slowly, he slide's himself into me, and once again, my ass takes in a rapid throbbing as he moves back and forth, and back and forth again.

"Are you doing okay?" He breaths.

"Fuck.." I pant. "Im fine.. Just..Oh god.."

This agony. It almost seems worse than last time. Did he GROW since a night ago? This is just damn _painful_. I pick up the nearest article of clothing (my pants) and sink my teethe into them, to see if the pain lessens. It dosent.

"Am I hurting you?" He asks.

"A little." I groan. Or a lot.

"Hold on..let me just-"

He shifts, or something, but whatever it is, it works. _A lot. _The plain soon lessens, and bliss trickles in, causing numerous moans to escape my mouth. Some, much too loud. He cups a hand over my open mouth.

"Shh. You'll wake someone."

I nod, and try to control myself, though I just cant. The groans keep breaking out my stupid mouth.

"Stu! Shut up!" He hisses. "I don't think it's a good idea for the motel manager to come out and ask what the fuck's going on."

"Take it as a compliment." I whisper through his hand.

…

Eventually, my groin seems to beat like a drum below me, telling me something _needs _to be unleashed.,_Now. _So after I cant last anymore, I let myself go with a piercing noise, and a moment after Murdoc free's his too, and I crumple to the car seat in a tired heap. Murdoc seems to not have even been effected by any of this. He doesn't even look tired, or anything. He just rapidly starts dressing himself back up.

"Are you leaving again?" I ask.

"I don't know." He mumbles. "What else did you have in mind.

_We could just sit here.. and sleep._ I think to myself. _Like were supposed to._

"Maybe.. we could-" I begin.

"Round two?" He interrupts me. "Now your thinking."

I nod, and give him a false smile as he starts over with everything. The kissing, the undressing. But he always leaves out the last part.. when were supposed to just lye there, and be.. together. I wonder if that part even _exists_ to him..

These…_ activites _are finished up, and were all dressed and ready to leave, but instead, we just sit in the back of the seat where we were.

"Whose car is this, anyway?" I ask.

He lights up a smoke. "I dunno. I hotwired it in the parking lot of some mechanic shop when they called me and told me you crashed my car."

I laugh awkwardly. "Yeah..uh.. sorry about that again.."

"I think we'll just drop that for now."

I nod In agreement.. but there's something I don't _want _to let go.. Something I need to ask..

"Murdoc?" I ask quietly.

"Yeah?"

I turn to him. "Why.. why did we do that again?

He shrugs. "Same reason as last time. Quick, meaningless shag. Nothing more.."

_"Quick, meaningless shag. Nothing more.."_ His words spill into my head and spoil as seconds pass.

"Meaningless?" I ask impulsivley. "What'do you mean by that?"

He shrugs and tips a load of ash out a freshly rolled down window.

"Meaningless. That means it isnt anything more than.. just a shag. Mates with benifits, like i said before."

I should be able to accept this.. But i cant. I cant just sit here idly while he toys with my head.. and possibly other parts of me..

"Unbelivable." I mutter quietly, muffling my face into my sweaty hands. Shit my head hurts again.

"Whats your deal?" He asks dully.

"YOU are!" I shout in defense. Oh shit.. im kind of regretting that.

"Stuart.. what are you talking about?"

I dont answer, but instead keep my head tucked away in my hands. And the head rush sets in again, sickening every part of me.

"You didnt-" He begins. "You didnt think these were anything else but friendly shags.. did you?"

"I dunno." I mutter sickly. "I just.. i think-"

He cocks his head, and a half worried expression takes his face.

".. are you alright?- you look a little-"

"I.. have to go."

I think im gonna be sick. I quickly throw the back door open, and stumble out of it, into the drizzling rain. Maybe the shagging wasnt such a smart thing to do, after i've just gotten out of the hospital.

"Stu, wait!" Murdoc follows, as i stagger sickly, a drumming headache taking my brain my storm. I cant take this.. _im so tired.._ My head.. I just need to get out of here.. away from here.. away from _him.._

"Come back you idiot, your not well!" His voice seems to speak in doubles.

A warm ill feeling creeps up from my stomach, to my throat, and spills out my mouth, splattering out onto the pavement, as i droop to my knees. Oh god my head..._my fucking head. _Everything around me spins and whizzes, and dizzies my head. I need my pills, where are they? _Where the fuck are my pills.._ Preasure beats, and pulsates inside my aching head..

"Wh-where are my pills?" I mumur, before another warm gust of stomach acid pumps its way out, and hits the pavement again.. and my head falls to the ground as i curl over like a shot rabit. And all at once, everything begins to fade away to sleep.

_"Shit, shit STUART, GET UP, GET THE HELL UP!"_

And it all fades to grey.

**NOTE: There you all are :) I hope you enjoyed voting, and i will do this again i think. Also, dont worry, he's not dead. Was that a spoiler? Blaggh, whatever. Please review, and tell me what your opinions :)**


	12. 12:The Need, and Really Being Okay

**Chapter 12: The Need, and Really being Okay.**

**This chapter saddens me :( Alot. It will get happier though, i promise :)**

Im not a damzel, im not a damzel, im not a damzel.

I can tell myself this as much as i want.. But i'm still proved wrong, seeing as how i'm waking up in a hard hospital bed for the second time in the last ten hours. If i would have had my pills, all of this could have been avoided. I slowly peel my eyes open, and unlike every other time.. No one's there. No Doctor, no nurse.. No Murdoc.. But why would he be here anyway? It just seem's so empty in here.. Oh shit, what if this is like the begining of 28 days later, when the guy wakes up in a hospital bed, only to discover that everythings been over run by brain munching zombies.. Highly unlikley though, seeing as i can hear people outside the door. Well.. I might as well get up.. I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, and an imidieate rush strikes my head. Jeez.. maybe its not such a good idea to get back up.

"Oh, Stuart its not a good idea for you to get up right now.." The same grey haired doctor from last night peeks through the door and enters.

"Why dont you just lye back down?" he asks. I do as he says. and swing my legs back over onto the bed, recovering myself with some itchy blankets.

"Cant i go home?" I ask tiredly. "Its just my head, i'll be fine once i get my vikaden perscription filled."

A sorrow filled look that i dont like, blooms on his face.

"Son, I think rest would be good for now.."

I shake my head. "Alright, but I want my pills."

He sighs. "We've phoned your mum.. and she thinks it would be best if she told you.."

"Told me what?" Is it about dad? Is he.. dead?

The doctor sighs, and hands me a white cellular ive just noticed he's holding.

"She's waiting to talk to you, here you go." He hands me the phone.

"We'll be in when your ready.." He steps out of the room, on that note. My eyes examine the phone carefully, before I pull it to my ear.

"Stuart?" My mum asks.

"Hello Mum. What's wrong?" I ask nervously.

"Nothing, nothing baby." She says, with a hint of sniffle in her voice.

"Darling .. you havent been well, have you?"

I shrug, though she cant see. "I.. I dont know.. ive been alright."

"Dont lie to me.." she sighs. "The doctors told me about you fainting while driving, and passing out in a motel parking lot.. Due to the headaches."

"They told you huh?"

"Yes." She sniffs. "Baby, im worried about you."

"Mum." I groan. "Im fine, dont worry. Everything is okay.."

"What were you doing in a motel parking lot so early anyways?"

The thought just occured to me. What would my mother think of all this? All this Murdoc stuff.. what would she think of it? So i certainly cant tell her i was in a motel parking lot so early because i'd had a fight with my "mate with benifit" about how serious us fucking was, and that we proceded to shag again, twice, right there in his stolen pickup truck. Right there in the parking lot.

"I was out driving late with a headache, so i pulled over to get some air." I lie shakily.

"You know your not supposed to drive with headaches Stu."

"I know, I know."

A deep breath escapes her end of the phone. "I know your not telling the truth."

Lying to my mum, is the second to last thing i'd ever want to do. But the first, is letting anyone know about me and Murdoc.. so I lie.

"Im not lieing. I swear."

"If I believe you.." she says softly. "Will you take care of yourself?"

"Already am." Than a question pops into my skull.

"Hey Mum, after im done talking to you, could you call the pharmacy and ask them to refill my perscription?"

The line is silent, with only the sound of my mothers breathing getting heavier.

"Mum?"

"Stuart.." She begins. " You've been very ill latley.. you know that right?"

"Yeah, i guess." I say. "Thats why i need my pills."

"Ive talked with the doctor's." She sniffles. " Your body and mind have become dependant on the Vikaden. Dangerously dependant. Enough so, that you cant function correctly without it."

"I cant function right anyway." I chuckle, as the sound of my mother's sad breathing becomes more noticable.

"Where are you going with this?" I ask.

"Your never going to get better-" she takes a breath.

"Unless we lose the Vikaden."

My heart pauses, and my eyelids seem to disapear as my eyes widen.

"Wh- what do you mean?"

"Your stopping the vikaden." She sighs.

"No.. I- I cant mum, you know i cant-" I stutter.

"This is the only way."

"Mum, you cant do this to me." My widened eyes start to wet up.

"M-My headaches!.. Wh-what will they-"

"Love, you dont understand!" she says. "The pills are stressing you out, and making the headaches come back. Your addicted."

"IM-IM NOT ADDICTED." I raise my voice at my mother. My own mother.

"I CAN QUIT ANYTIME, I- I JUST DONT WANT TO! AND I DONT NEED TO-"

"Please! Please make this easy!" she cries. "Why dont you just come home?"

"Im not coming home, and im not stopping the pills." I cringe.

"This ISNT debatable." she shouts. "Stuart Harold Pot, this is for your OWN GOOD."

"Obviously.. you dont know my own good." I breath. "You cant do this, your killing me, your ALL killing me.."

"The vikaden is killing you!" she lets out a stiffled cry.

"Your killing yourself.

An anger ridden force drives me over the edge. "NOT YET, IM NOT."

A silence passes, and the subtle beating of my heart marks the ticking of time.

"what?"

"Mum.." I say, regaining a bit of normalness. "I didnt mean that."

"Baby" she bawls. "My baby, please dont do this, i just want you to be well again, please."

"Im alright." I say hushly, hoping to tone down her crying.

"Mum, shh. It'll be okay. I promise. Just keep me on the pills." I stutter, as a wet line starts to run down my eye.

"You know we cant do that."

I let out a sigh. "I need them."

"come home." she tried one more time. "Please, come home, i want you to be okay again."

"I am okay." I quiver. "But i need my pills. I need them, or i wont be."

I pull a clammy thin hand, out from underneath my bedcovers, and smack it to my nightstand, shifting and hovering it, trying to make out a small cilinder shaped object. Nothing there. Still, for the third time ive checked, no pill bottle. Maybe.. they might have been there and i knocked them off the stand? Yeah.. that might be so.

I arch myself up from the bed a bit, to feel underneath the bed with a sleepy hand. Clothes, empty cigarette containers, plates, wrappers.. and a pill bottle. I quickly pull it up as a burst of exitment hits my brain. Ive found them, ive found them! My shaky hands fumble with the container, until the top screws off.. and inside, nothing but the space dust of what used to be pills. Damn it, i almost had them.. so close.. The bottle flies out of my angry hand, to the nearest wall and bounces off, only to hit the ground and roll around my messy floor teasingly. Sulking back inbetween cold covers, my tired, unusable mind sets to work as best as it can..

If the doctor's wont give them to me..Maybe somone else can? Somone sketchy.. somone ill minded.. somone like..

My door hammers open to bring Murdoc in, with a fag hanging out his mouth, and a cell phone in hand. Same neutral expression hanging off his face.

"Well if it isnt our lazy arse young stewie boy.." He says semi cheerily.

"Go away" I mutter, burrowing my head farther underneath my blankets. Maybe if he cant see me, he'll leave.

"Unfortunetly..No." He says, as the blankets covering my aching head are torn away, to reveal him standing over me. He seems to be in an okay mood today.

"Have you even been out of bed since we got back from the hospital a couple days ago?"

"To pee." I murmur, as the cold seeps in from the lack of blanket. He flops himself down at the foot of my bed, just making himself comfortable.

"You havent eaten today, have you?"

I shake my head.

"Not hungry."

He shrugs.

"Come on you dillweed, you have to eat something. If i'm to "care" for you until Noodle gets back and Russ arrives, i cant have you starving to death, as funny as that sounds"

"I dont want any food.."

He puts his head down and sighs, shaking it in a sorrow like action.

"Shit, your worse than when Rachel Stevens dumped your sorry self."

"Please.. go." I mutter, sinking back down into my former blanket covered glory.

"Fine, fine." He says, getting up from the foot of my bed.

"But i'll be back in an hour, and when i do, im cramming a can of Knorr down your throat, weather you like it or not.

"You know i hate Knorr."

"Thats exactly why im doing it, dear boy." He says, stepping away with a sketchy aura lighting his way. Sketchy...

I spring up and flag him down.

"Murdoc, wait..Can i ask you something?"

He turns around and sighs heavily.

"Shit, what is it? If this about last night-"

"No, its not.." I defend, my cheeks pinking up.

"Its.. can i just speak to you for a moment?"

He glowers an eye, and slowly closes the door he was opening.

"About what?"

"I want to ask you something..." The look on his face tells me he thinks its about or recent shagging.

"No, its nothing like that." He slowly walks over and regains his place at the end of my bed.

"Well, spit it out than, My gins getting warmer by the minute."

"The doctors.." I start up.

"They wont give me my Vikodin."

He nods.

"Yes, we've established that. That's why youve been sulking around in bed for the past two days."

"Your sketchy..." I say carefully.

"And you know sketchy people. Do you know any one i could bum some off?"

He quirks half a smile and raises an eyebrow suspiciously.

"Stuart, are you asking me to buy you drugs?"

"Dont put it like that." I say. "But You dont have to buy it, i have the money."

"Im surprised at you." He shakes his head.

"You think me, none other than Murdoc Niccals, knows somone you could bum your sleezy Vikodin off of?"

"So you dont know anyone i can get it from?"

"Oh, ofcourse i do." He says, getting up from the tip of my bed.

"It's simply the fact that im not going to help."

I glower my eyes.

"what?"

"Yup." He says bleakly, walking away.

"I dont think i want to."

"wha- why?"

"I dunno. Im not going to help you destroy yourself."

"IM NOT FUCKING DESTROYING MYSELF." A sudden rush of rage hits me. He turns back and stares.

"I.. need..this. Why dont any of you get it- I CANT FUNCTION WITHOUT THEM!"

"No, see um stuart-" He begins.

"YOU CANT FUNCTION WITH THEM."

"what are you talking about." I say.

"I WAS FINE WHEN I HAD THEM."

"You call all this fainting, and throwing up, FINE?"

"that was because of the headaches-" I stutter

"NO, IT WASNT." He looks at me,with this rage and sorrow ridden look.

"Stuart, you have to realise something. MURDOC NICCALS is sitting here telling you, something is bad for you. Ive never told anyone that in their life. Why? Because usually, I DONT CARE."

He takes a break to breath angrily.

"I know that." I scoff.

"Obviously, you dont give a shit about me, or anyone else and i dont care, i just need my vikodin." I add, starting to steam up a bit.

"Usually, i dont give two shits about any one and their drug problems." He says.

" But stuart, your killing yourself, your going to DIE if you dont stop this-"

My eyes begin to redden, and wet as the situation sinks into my skin.

"YOU DONT CARE ABOUT ME!" I shout.

"STOP PRETENDING LIKE YOU DO, JUST STOP IT."

"oh I dont care do I?" He argues back.

"I dont care about you, EVEN THOUGH IM STANDING HERE, TRYING TO PROTECT YOU FROM WHATS KILLING YOU. DOES THAT SOUND LIKE I DONT CARE?"

"The car.." I shake, rage filling up my veins.

"When i passed out in that car and crashed, you didnt give A SHIT ABOUT ME. JUST YOUR STUPID CAR."

"You idiot.." He hisses.

"I DONT GIVE A FUCK ABOUT THE CAR, I NEVER DID. IT WAS THE FACT, THAT YOU DONT TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF. HOWEVER ANGRY I WAS LAST NIGHT, IT WAS BECAUSE YOU DONT TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF, AND YOU NEARLY KILLED YOURSELF WHILE DOING SO."

"I NEED THEM!" I shout, warm beads running down from my eyes. I wipe away the un-masculine water.

"CANT YOU SEE I NEED THEM?" Fuck, stop cying stuart! Stop it, your a man! Stop it , stop it, stop it! I sink back underneath the blankets, and burrow my face into the pillow, so he cant see. Drops from my eyes wet the pillow, though i tell them to stop. Everything is quiet. Is Murdoc still here? The end of the bed sinks down, and i think he's sitting there again.

"Fuck." He mutters, over the sound of my heavy breathing. Can he hear me crying? Shit..

"Look at you.." He says, almost in a whisper.

"What happened to the happy kid i hit with my car?" This forces a small laugh out of me. Thats a break from quiet sobs, at least. Shit, im a mess. God dammit, Im not a woman, why am i doing this? When I dont reply, he picks up a hush tone.

"Its like.. this isnt you anymore... Stuart, i'm not about to say i've never disrespected anyone. Shit, im aloud to.. But you swore out your own mother the last time you talked to her on the tellephone."

"You.. you heard that?" I sniffle. He's right. Earlier, I had another phone squabble with my Mum.. and i said some terrible things.. Things i cant believe i would ever say to my own mother..

"How.. how could i do that?" I ask shakily. He dosent answer, as my quiet sobbing becomes a bit louder, and more hearable. Controll yourself, stuart! Controll yourself... The soft subtle touch of a gentle, but rough hand becomes noticable on my back, as my face is kept in the pillow.

"Forget about it." He says. "She's your own mother. And your her boy. She understands."

"How do you know.."

"I dont." He answers bleakly. "My mum left me for porch shit. But i'm only assuming, seeing as your mother loves you."

"You dont know that." I sniff.

"Yeah, i do." He scoffs.

"She's only called eight times to give me more tips on how to care for you, such as shoving Knorr down your throat, and ...well.. she didnt exactly tell me to do that.

"She knows I hate Knorr too." I say bitterly.

"She means well though." He sighs, hand still stroking my back.

"I mean, she's under the impression that i'm about to tie to you to the top of my car and just go for a joy ride.. not that I wont."

My head.. My fucking head.. I mean, Its getting to the point where i cant hear half the words he's saying.. I need my pills..

"I need them.." I murmur.

"Stuart." He says, a bit harshly. "Look at me."

"what? why-"

"Just look at me."

I slowly uncover the blankets from my head, and wipe my wet eyes the best i can. His eyes gape at me, as he pulls my chin in toward his face.

"You dont need the fucking pills." He says slowly.

"All's you need is your zombie movies, and your keyboards, and your wonderful voice, and your humor, and.. and your friendlyness, and..and-"

And You.. I think to myself. I might just need you too.

"And.. " He says quieter, and slower. "These big.. deep dark rabit holes of eyes.."

"what..what about them?" I ask, as the rest of my vision except for him melts in the slowed time.

"They're.. amazing and.. completley unlike anything ive ever seen.." His own eyes create a hole in me. A hole, thats filled with some emotion. Some weird, alien emotion that boils in my stomach and makes every feeling im capable of want to jump away, just to make room for it. Above my stomach, my heart beats like the feet of a racehorse.. What the hell is going through me right now?

Too soon, he breaks the connection through our eyes, and turns around to let out a fake cough.

"I should go.. practice bass." He gets up, and quickly steps over to the door.

"er.. wait!" I call.

"You.. you dont have to leave.."

"why? I have important things to do."

A cold silence fills the room as i try to reconect us through the eyes.

"You could stay.."

A loud exhale escapes his chest as he shakes his head.

"Stuart, you know i cant do that."

One of my eyebrows tilts as my heart begins to sink.

"I dont see why we cant just-"

"Just.. just go to sleep." The door closes, and brings in a whole new load of headache.

Shit, shit shit he hates me. I think, plummeting back under the covers. But I always knew that didnt I? He dosent even want to be around me...

My sore head on a still tear wet pillow, i drift off into a sleep like state. Just lying in the dark, thinking things over.

Love is a funny word. It can describe exactly how you feel about someone or something, or the exact and utter oposite. Sex, is another word. This world we've grown to call home has rotted into enough of a place, that you can share this with someone, and they can still hate you like your the scum of the earth. But you love them. You love them, and you love every inch and corner of them.. even the part that hates you.. And in some cases, thats the part you love the most. And you hate yourself for it. You hate yourself, and you love someone else, and you wonder how your capable to hold the two emotions, at the same time. At the very same time..

A creak interupts my thoughts, as foot steps enter my ears, stepping quietly over to where I am.

"Stuart." Murdoc asks quietly.

"Are you still awake?"

I dont answer. For no reason at all, i dont answer, as a pair of warm dry-wet lips, softly, and quickly peck my cheek, and leave with no proof that they were ever there, but a small wet spot that i want to reach up and touch, to save forever. The same foot steps leave, and murdoc is seemingly gone.

"Be alright, Stuart." He says hushly.

"Please, please..just be alright.."

**OHH MUDSIE. :P Not a very good time to make jokes, is it? Alright. I'll just leave you with that than. Review, and tell me your thoughts on this :) It would REALLY make **


	13. 13:Mother Dearest

**Chapter 13: Mother Dearest**

**NOTESEY: Blah welcome all, and thank you for reading! I have to use an online spell checker because word broke, so sorry for any spelling or grammar...*** Dont worry, i know murdocs being a bit slow on the relationship type thing, but I promise he wont be forever :) He'll get there. Oh what am i holding you back for? READ!******

I've been noticing things more than usual. Lying in bed all day gives you plenty of opurtunity for that.

Things like, How Murdoc never calls me 2D anymore when were alone.. Just Stuart, or Stu.. Or how, when you look inside your tea cup, you can make out little pictures through the tea leaves that fall to the bottom, and how Murdoc cant make up his mind on weather he likes me or hates me.. and how, without my pills, everything seems to piss me off more.. I've been getting better in the last few days, I think. I still, no doubt need my pills back, but its not ALL i think of anymore.

For now, I lye, head under the blankets in my bed, which has gone uncomfortable because of how long i've been sitting in it. Hell, i've even lost track of how long i've been lying here. Yeesh, whens the last time I had myself a shower?

Unexpectedly, a door hammers open to reveal a tall dark figure i havent seen in years.

"D!" Russell booms, stomping over happily.

"Russ!" I say raspily. Wow, i havent talked in a while.

"When,d you get back?"

"Just now, how have you been man?" He chuckles, flopping down to the end of the bed where Murdoc usually sits.. Oh shit Murdoc, HOW is Russ not going to find out? Im screwed, im screwed.

"Fine." I say , a bit shakily.

"Dont lie D, Muds told me you had a fever."

A fever? Murdoc must have told Russell that, to... well.. protect my situation.

"Err, yeah.." I lie. "Its been pretty bad."

Russel, who seems to have gotten bigger, pats my head with his humungous fist, nearly knocking me through the bed.

"Ah, Poor D. So I heard Noodle's off somwhere?"

"Musical Inspiration." I answer. Russ nods.

"Aw, thats too bad I was hopin we could get a crack at this new album. You and muds been crackin anything out?"

Yeah, I think to myself. We've been crackin something out, thats for sure..

"What?" He asks.

Oh shit, did i say that out loud? Fuck.

"Oh, nothing! Just joking." I stutter , fumbling nervously with my fingers. "We were actually waiting for you and Noodle to get here so we could start up on some stuff."

Russel scratches the back of his head, and heads for the door.

"Sounds aight. Well I should letcha heal up. Also, Muds told me to tell you that your mother called."

"Oh, well fuck him." I chuckle.

"No, really." Russ laughs, opening the door. "She called, an she wants you'ta call back. So get on that man. Later." On that, the door closes and Gorillaz is whole again. Except for the fact that Noodle is off somewhere getting musical inspiration in god knows where. I look to the white cellphone Murdoc left on my nightstand. For the past few days, It's been ringing off the hook, im tellin ya. Fans calling, relatives, doctor's, people I dont even know.. I dont even know how the number got out there, but people have been calling all week asking how my "fever" has been.. except for my mum and the doctor's who ofcourse know whats up.

I grab for the phone on my nightstand, and thumb my mum's number into the keys. And ofcourse, it only rings for a few short secondsm until her voice beams through the phone.

"Stuart?" She asks.

"Yes mum, its me."

"Hi Baby." She greets. "Hows your head?"

I sigh, and rub my temples with a spare hand.

"Better." I lie. In reality, it still hurts like a bitch, but she worries enough without me adding to it.

"Good, Hon. Is that Noodley girl back yet?"

"Noode, Mum." I correct her with a chuckle. "And no, she's still off wherever."

"You dont even know where she is?"

I shrug to myself. "Nope, but she's smarter than all of us here put together. She can handle herself."

"Dont say that." she snaps softly. "Your an incredibly bright young boy."

"Thanks." I sigh dully, entering a change of subject. "So did you want to ask me something?"

"What?" A hint of offence fills her voice. "I cant just talk to my boy without it being a catch?"

"Not that i dont mind talking to you." I say. "Its just that every time you've called in the last week, its been to ask me to come home."

A sigh exits her end of the line. "I really would feel alot more comfortable if you were here so I could help you, instead of being over there where i have to call that mildrick fellow every day and give him directions on how to properly care for my boy."

"Murdoc." I correct her once again. "And he's been doing.. fine."

"He'd better be." she grumbles. "But i'd still feel better if you'd come home.."

"Mum, we need to get this new album out. You know that dont you?"

"Stuart, ONE WEEK at your mother's isnt going to kill anyone, or do anything to your album."

"But..but-" I stutter. "Murdoc wont like me just leaving-"

"Take him with you!" she shouts.

My eyebrow raises as i bring my mouth closer to the phone.

"What? Bring him with? Why?"

"Than, he cant complain about you being gone."

"No, mum. I'm not taking Murdoc home." Pff. Taking Murdoc home to meet my parents, what a laugh.

"Why not? I'd like to meet him."

"You've already met him! When he had to watch me when i was in that coma?"

"Oh yeah.. I did?"

"Yes mum, you did."

"Well.. bring him anyways!" she says. "He's your friend, it'll be fun."

"Mum-"

"Just come baby. Just a week, and bring your friend."

I sigh, and shake my head. "Fine, i'll ask him."

"So your coming than?" she asks. "when?"

I shrug. "I dont know.."

"Come tommorow, i'll pay for gass." Tommorow? Thats a bit short notice.

"You dont have to pay for gass."

"Non sense, you dont have any money to pay for it with!"

"Yes I do!" I deffend myself, though honestly.. I dont. Since the last album, we've blown all our money on random shit we didnt even need. Hookers, weed, cigarettes, burgers and chips,.. and thats just Murdocs list.

"From where?" She asks. "I'm paying for gass, and thats that. Bye baby, see you tomorow. Call me."

And she just hangs up. So.. what i'm going to my mums now? And apparently with murdoc? I mean with all thats been going on lately between us, it just adds salt to the wound, him coming with me to see my parents.. I mean, thats insane..

But he has been a bit nicer lately.. maybe he's better?

"OH SHIT MY FUCKING TOE, RUSS YOU DICK THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT IM GOING TO FUCKING SKIN YOU AND SELL YOUR SKIN TO BUFFALO BILL YOU INGRATE." Murdoc screetches in the distance.

"Muds, its a stubbed toe. Shit get it together!.." Russel scolds.

Yeah im screwed.

The day nearly folds itself up, into a tightly packed end, and I, fresh out of a shower that made my head a little bit better (but it still hurts) Head off to reason with Murdoc, beads of water dripping from my wet head.

Kongs kitchen, draws me in with a heavy scent of something spicy. Russ must be cooking, he's a hell of a chef. I stroll through the kitchen doorway, and sure enough through the mounds of trash, he's cooking something up.

"Whatcha makin russ?"

"Pepper chicken." He says. "Damn, I missed this kitchen." Russ is a funny guy. I mean hey, he's a big tough guy, but when it comes to cooking and kitchen's, he knows his way around better than Rick stein.

"My mama used to make it." He says. "But I reckon i make it a helluvah lot better. Love her though. Speakin'a mothers, did you talk to yours?"

I plop myself down at the island counter and sigh.

"Yeah, all it was was her badgering me about coming home." I complain, burrying my head tiredly into my arms that rest on the counter.

"You gonna?" He asks.

"Unfortunetly." I mutter. "Not for good though, just a coupla days."

"Why all the sudden?" He asks. "I mean i dont wanna go pokin my nose round your family buisness, but this is a bit soon, you only just got here like a month ago, right?"

Has it really only been a month? Only a month, since this whole Murdoc situation was started, and only like a week or two since we've shagged?

"D?" Russel wakes me up from this little thought, and i pull my head out of the clouds, and into the real world.

"Oh, yeah I think its because im..ehrmm.. sick." I lie. Well I guess thats not lying, because in a way i AM sick.

I decide to change the subject. "You seen Muds?"

"Up on the roof." He says. "Stubbed his toe, now he's blowin off steam."

I roll my eyes, and get up from the stool.

"He would too." I mutter.

"If you find him-" Russel says. "Tell him dinner's almost done, an he aint gettin SHIT."

Yeah, I think what i'm telling him will be somewhat different.

Still getting lost a few times, eventually i've made it to the roof, where a line silouhette of smoke radiates from a figure, darkened by the night, hanging over the edge of the top railing, little glittering dots in the sky glimmering in front of him.

"What is it?" He asks.

I walk the length of the roof, and perch my elbows on the railing beside him, like he does.

"Heard you stubbed your toe." I chuckle.

He shrugs, and blows out a thin line of transparent gray out of the lips i've tasted.

"Russ's fault. Tripped over his HUMUNGOUS fucking foot."

I nod, and laugh softly into the night air, developing a short silence.

"How's your head?" He asks.

"Honestly.." I drawl. "Not great. Better than it was a few days ago, but I still need my..." I drop my sentence in fear of making him angry.

He sighs. "You were going to say pills werent, you?"

My head slowly sulks down in shame, as i nod.

He shakes his head, and tips a loaf of ash off the end of his fag. It gently floats in the air and crumbles into a grey mess, peices of it scattering.

"Im sorry." I mutter.

"Dont be." He says bleakly. "You've nothing to be sorry about. Dont apolagize when its not needed.. its annoying."

And i almost apolagize for that too.

"Dinners almost done." I say instead. "Russel made peppered chicken."

"I know, he hit me with the pan." He chuckles, and makes for a leave. I grab his hand, softly jerking him back.

"Wait, Muds!"

He turns back. "Yeah?"

"I was gonna ask you something.." Now, i realize my hand is still to his. My grip loosens.

"Well, out with it im starved."

"Listen.." I sigh. "This is going to sound EXTREMLEY stupid, and your propably going to say no.. but My mum wants me to go back to crawley for a bit to make sure i'm okay-"

"And you want me to come with you?" He assumes.

"Err.. yeah." I say awkwardly. "How did you know?"

"Your like a book stuart." He takes a drag on his fag, and lets out the smoke into my face. "Your extremley readable. Why should i come with you?"

"Err.. i dunno, it'l be boring, and i dont wanna face them alone. I need you to tell them im okay."

"So.. you want me to meet your parents?" He raises an eyebrow.

My cheeks warm up and pinken. "No, not that, nothing like that."

"Good." He says bleakly. "Because you know were just-"

"Mates with benifits." I exhale dissapointedly. "I know, I know. I just want someone there.. and you can make my mum quit her worrying."

"How can I do that? I'm not exactly the most cheery one in the lot am i?"

"I dont know." I mutter. "But if you see im alright.. maybe they will too."

"Yeah, except I dont know that." He mutters.

"And are you sure this isnt just a little scheme for your sick minded self to be able to get fucked by me in your parents house?"

"No!" I defend myself with a hint of laughter. Than i decide to be a little.. seedy, perhaps.

I glower my eyebrows and step in closer.

"But.. maybe that comes along with the deal."

"Oh does it?" He says, his voice rising. He gets in closer a "Can I get a down payment on that?"

"Maybe. As long as-" I begin to giggle, until he interupts me with his own mouth to mine. Here we go again, alright third (technichly fourth) time, i can do this! But my head.. Oh god my head. His rope of a tongue slides itself farther, and farther down my throat.. Oh god, am i going to throw up? Oh please dont puke stuart.. Oh god my head..

His hands slide their way down farther and farther, until their down to my belt loop, which he quickly undoes. Alright, this is it stuart.. you can do this.. you can-

Suddenly, he just stops. He takes his lips off mine, and moves his hands to my hair.

"Whats wrong?" He asks, ruffling my hair with his long fingers.

"Nothing.. Just my head." I mutter, rubbing my forehead.

He sighs. "Fuck. We shouldnt be doing this right now, your not well.."

I put my head down and nod.

"Er, dont worry." He mutters, walking off.

"We'l have plenty of time for that when your alright." He says, walking off.

"Im alright now." I mutter as he begins to dissapear. Hold up, he didnt answer me yet.

"Wait, are you coming with me or not?" I ask Murdoc, who's halfway out the door.

He scratches his head. "What? Who?... Yeah I guess,whatever, okay.. Just dont think this is anything more than a friendly gesture.."

"But-" He says, holding a finger up.

"I'm still expecting payment.. If you know what I mean.."

The Next Morning

The first thing he told me when we got in the winnabego was that this wasnt a gay trip. Go figure. He'd explained to me that he was doing this so he himself could escape and possibly find some different women to screw (or just me), and new pubs. Only a small part of his reasoning it was because I wanted him to go with. I even still had a problem admitting that myself, that i wanted him to go with. And I knew EXACTLY why i wanted him to go.. or wait.. actually maybe i dont know why... These new found feelings in the pit of my stomach are hard to figure out..

Explaining to Russel just where the hell we were going was a problem. I mean, you cant exactly just leave him a note that says Russel, my parents think im a drug addict, so i'm taking Murdoc (who im getting feelings for, and have fucked a couple times... just saying) with me so he can tell them that im not, and that i need my pills back so I can stop having freakouts. Thanks -2D

Nope, that didnt sound like a great thing to tell him, so Murdoc glued together some shabby lie, and stuck it in Russ's face, and just told him to tell Noodle if she got back when we were gone not to be mad, and that we'd be back soon. In fact, i'm not even sure what the hell that lie was.

I turn my head to a driving Murdoc, and speak over the hum of the winnabego.

"Muds, what exactly did you tell Russ to get us off the hook?" I ask.

"That I was taking you to go find Rachel, so you could try to get back together with her, when really I was just gonna fuck her myself."

I glower my eyes and cross my arms. That one wasnt cool. Rachel... what a bunch of rubbish.

"How'd he react to that?" I sigh.

"Wanted to break my nose again, and made me promise to keep out of your way of getting back with her."

I look out the window, to the smooth asphalted road and think of Rachel. Damn, she was beautiful.. A bit airheaded, and bitchy at times, but she wasnt sore to look at.. I wonder if things'd be normal now if I might have been still with her..

Than i look back to Murdoc, and graze his looks with my eyes. But than again, how normal can things be with Murdoc around?..How normal can anything be at Kong studios?

He turns to me and sneers. "What? Why are you looking at me weirdly?"

I quickly turn my head and shrug. "Oh.. I dunno, i didnt know I was.. sorry."

"You have a staring problem, you know that?"

Damn.. my head.. The sooner I can get those pills the better. I clench my hand to my forehead and hunch over a bit in pain.

"Your head any better?" He asks.

I shrug. "Not really.."

"It'l get there." He says half brightly. "Just give it time."

I have been_... and I still cant get you off my mind_.. I think to myself...Oh, you were _talking about my headaches?_

_I shake these thoughts out of my brain. Just stop thinking about him stuart, he's basicly the spawn of satan, he can probably read your mind! Oh shit.. can he?_

"Muds, can you read minds?" I ask nervously.

"What?" He chuckles. "Are you fucking stoned, no i cant, why?"

"I dunno." I twiddle my fingers.

"I figured since your like.. basicly the spawn of satan.."

"He's not my dad." He says. "My dad's some arse hole who's still wallowing around in the filth of stoke on trent, scrounging for booze money."

I nod. "So.. you cant read minds than?"

"Nooo..." He says. "Why, is your dirty little head conguring up thoughts about me?"

_Yes._

"No." I say. "I was just wondering."

"Wondering about what? My dick in your-"

"Okay, okay enough!" I laugh, interupting him. "No I was just thinking."

"Well good than." He mutters under his breath.

"You'll have plenty of time for filthy things later.."

I laugh softly, and turn my head back out the window, to the rolling highway.

"Or now.. if you'd like." He adds.

I whip my head back. "what?"

"well.." He coughs, eyes fully on the road, though mine dart him down. "If you cant possibly contain yourself any longer.."

"I never said that!" I protest. "You act like thats all I ever think about, is sex."

"I bet it is."

"It is not! I can hold out.."

He raises an eyebrow. "From me? Stu, No one can do that. Have you fucking seen me? Im dead sexy."

"So what?" I fold my arms. "I told you already, i can hold out if I want to."

"Stuart, you always give in. There's no protesting with you."

"How can you tell that?" I scoff. "We've only done it two times-well.. three."

"Care to make it four or five?" He smirks. But you know what? I'm gonna prove myself..

"You know what? No. I dont."

"Oh is that so?" he cocks his head. "You wont last long on that one."

"I can to!"" I argue back.

"Make it a bet than." He smirks. "Hundred bucks says you cant make it a week."

I turn to him. "I dont need your dirty money."

"AHA!" He laughs. "I knew it. You cant even last five minutes, chances are we'l pull over in the next ten so you can-"

"Fine!" I shout. "Its a bet than!"

"So it is." He says. "You'll be growing rather quiant with your hand than, wont you? Oh wait, no you wont.. cause you'll give in."

"Will too." I mumble. God dammit, what'd i go making that bet for? Now i'm throwing away part of the reason i had him come with me.. And Im adding to him just thinking of us as friends.. But a hundred bucks dosent hurt..

But you know what does hurt? Holding out.. that hurts..alot.

**NOTESEY: Something tells me these next few chapters are going to be PREEEETY fun :) Oh 2d and his pill situation :( Sigh. Thanks for reading, and Review and tell me what you think!**

**I LOVE YOUR OPINIONS!**


	14. 14: The Utter Oposite of Homesick

**Chapter 13: The Utter Opposite of Homesick.**

**Again Everyone, Sorry if any spelling or grammar is off :P Microsoft Word stopped working, so I've been having to use an online spell checker and IT FAILS SO HARD :( But here ya go **

This, is the driveway I was nearly born in when my mum almost didn't make it to the hospital on time. This is also the driveway I ran out half naked in, the first month I knew Murdoc. This is the driveway Me and Murdoc pull up in, tired and tightly packed in the Winnebago. Needless to say, these have been a few tired hours. The traffic from Essex to Crawley was bloody brutal, i mean this litterly took four hours when it could have taken two, and we haven't stopped once. Nothing to complain about when you've been on tours though.

My nerves shake them selves out my body in jittery motions, as the Winnebago parks. Murdoc looks over at me and raises an eyebrow.

"What's your deal?"

"Don't have one." I shrug, as he shakes his head and tries to get out his door. I grab him gently by the shoulder.

"what, what is it cant we just get this over with?"

"I know, we will..." I say. "Its just.. Can you try to.. y'know.. be nice to them?"

He shakes his head and rubs his temples stressfully.

"Sweet Satan, you act like were fucking bonded by all the magma in hell. Stuart, I'm not asking your father for your hand in marriage, calm down! I'm here as your band mate to tell your mother and father that your not some drug crazed pill pirate, nothing else.. Understand?"

Here he goes, rubbing in the only friends thing again.

I heave a soft sigh. "I know, I know but i just don't want you to be rude to them."

"What d'you think I'm gonna flip a table onto them?"

I shrug. "You've done it to me a few times."

"I'll be good." He hisses. "Just stop treating me like an eight year old, I'll hammer your arse to the pavement."

We exit the car, and I stand in this famous driveway, and look to the house i grew up in. Pale yellow, a couple tall trees fencing it. Normal. A word I'm not used to using. I try to move to the porch, but my feet seem to be stitched to the ground.

Mentally cutting the stitches, I move away to the front door, and Murdoc follows. I knock softly a few times, and Mum must be exited for this, because the door flips open right away to reveal her in a powder blue hilliger sweater I'd sent to her a few Christmases ago when Gorillaz were huge, and Money wasn't a hard thing to come by.

"Honey!" She coos, trapping me into a tight hug.

"Hello mum." I groan through her lung crushing clutches. Murdoc chuckles behind me.

"I was afraid you wouldn't come!" she says, setting me free.

I raise an eyebrow. "Were five minutes earlier than I said we'd be."

"That dosent mean you couldn't have ditched your parents for a hussie house." she sasses me, hands on her hips.

"Mum!" I say, pretty much shocked.

"Well you could have- " She peeks behind me, to get a look at Murdoc. Oh shit, she's going to hug him..

"Stuarts friend!" She greets, pulling him into the same hug she's just released me from.

"Its good to see you again!" she says sweetly. Now its weird to hear that, because i keep forgetting they'd met a few times when he had to watch me in my coma catatonic thing.

"And you, my you haven't aged at all, have you?" He says. Wait, what the hell?

"Well." she giggles. "I wouldn't say that.."

"Oh i would." he says in a gentlemanly voice. "You seem to have gotten younger."

what the shit is he doing? I swear to god, if he's trying to shag my mother..

"Oh not at all." she laughs. "With the hospital having me up so late, I'm looking older."

"Hospital?" He asks. "what's a woman of your looks doing working at a hospital?"

"Well..It pays the bills..." she giggles, twirling a strand of hair in her finger.

"So does modeling, or acting love.. Speaking of beauty, if your so lovely, why didn't Stuart get any of your looks?"

That's not what you thought a a few nights ago. I think, chuckling to myself. Oh shit he's gonna get it now. Mothers don't like people insulting their children.

"I like this one." Mum giggles. "Lets keep him, Stu."

Wait, what? So he pretty much just called me ugly, and she dosent care? What the hell!

"How about not." I scoff.

"I think- Oh wait!" she interrupts herself. "I forgot, i had something for you Stuart, hold on a moment."

she breaks off and scurries up the stares for something. As soon as the door shuts, I snap my head to Murdoc.

"What the hell?" I whisper.

He shrugs. "what?"

"You cant just flirt my mother off like that!"

"I wasn't flirting.." He whispers back. "I was being gentlemanly."

"Since when are you gentlemanly? Your not gentlemanly, you don't DO gentlemanly! You-"

He puts his hand over my mouth.

"Hush up, do you want your mother to think your alright? She'll never believe REAL Murdoc Niccals, and believe me though your mother is attractive, it is EXTREMELY tedious to be gentlemanly. So be quiet."

I pull his hand away from my mouth.

"Did you just call my mother attractive?" I whisper heatedly.

He raises an eyebrow and smirks devilishly.

"Your jealous are'nt you?"

"Noo.." I protest. "I just don't like it when people-"

he hushes my mouth with his own hand again.

"You just don't like me calling other people nice looking. Tsk Tsk Stuart, you'll never get far in this world." On that, he removes his hand and makes for the front door.

"Where are you going?" I ask.

"Pub."

"We just got here, i need you to shmooze to my mother about how I'm not a pill pigeon!"

"Pill pirate, numb skull." He corrects me. "I'll do it at dinner, I need a drink."

"Ask your mum if she wants to come with." He laughs.

"fuck off." I mutter.

"I'm only joking." he laughs, pulling his hand back like he's going to hit me. Oh shit, he's gonna hit me! I flinch back, as his hand strikes not my face, but my arse. And hard.

"Owch!" I flinch.

"Have a swell evening." He mutters, exiting and capping the scene with the close of a door. Huh, he must be in a good mood today. Or he's just horny.. Probably the second one.

A door shutter upstairs tells me my mums coming back down. She comes back with a small roller ball type thing in her hand. Has she got perfume? Oh if she thinks I'm going to put that on..

"Here we are.. Wheres your friend?" She asks, looking around.

"Off somewhere in town." I say.

"Good luck to him than." she says. "Nothing to do in crawley.. Hold out your wrist."

"why?" I ask. "Is that perfume? I don't wanna smell like a lass.."

"No you silly boy." she sighs, and begins to roll it onto my wrist. "Its called Stop, Roll and Relax. I got it from an herb lady. Its supposed to radiate itself from your nostrils up to your brain and make your headaches go away."

I hold it up to my nose and take a whiff, only to pull back with a sour look on my face.

"It smells like grans house." I say.

"Grans house wont make your headaches go away. Now why don't you go sit down and I'll make you something."

"I'm fine mum its your day off." I protest, like a good son. "Go sit and be happy."

"What makes me happy is my son not starving to death." She gestures to the kitchen table.

"Now go sit." I shrug, and do as she says, taking a seat at a kitchen table that seems to have shrunk.

"Your friends quite the gentleman." she giggles from the kitchen. "I don't know why you think he's so terrible, he seems quite lovely."

"Oh god." I groan. "You sound like every other woman in the world." And me..

"They love you too.."

My head begins to pulsate..

"Your magic voodoo water didn't work." I groan. "I still have a headache."

"Its not magic Voodoo water, its stop roll and relax." she corrects me. "And you have to give it time."

Why does everyone tell me to give things time? What if i don't want to?

tap tap

I turn around to see a chubby woman with short oak hair, and too much eyeliner hugging her eyes, tapping on the window. My old neighbor, Madden.

"Hey Stu!" She shouts. "Lemme in!"

"Well, open the window." Mum says.

"Do I have to?" Madden frightens the life outa me. She's weird, and she's got all these weird ideas and things. She used to tape pictures of whales to my window when i was sleeping, in high school. That declared, that i don't like her.

I come to the window, and shove it open, Madden lugging herself over the edge and into the kitchen.

"Hi Madden.." I say unenthusiastically.

"Ay Stu buddy!" she says, swinging a chubby arm around my shoulder.

"How ya been?"

I shrug awkwardly. "been alright.."

" Heard that Murdoc Nickel guy was here, I came straight over. He is TEN DIFFERENT KINDS OF DAMN."

"Who told you that?" I ask.

"Your mum." she laughs. "ha, that sounds dirty, but its not."

"Uh..huh.."

"So..." she rests an elbow on my shoulder.

"You think I'd have a chance with this Murdoc Nickel guy?"

No, go shove a road sign down your throat and back off. I think to myself.

"He's not really a relationship type guy.." I know from experience.

"Neither am I." she scoffs. "Y'think all this was meant for one guy to handle? Oh no.. I'm a bit of a player.."

"Thats.. nice." I say nervously.

"Well, I'd better run." she yawns. "Eastenders'll be on any minute, and i don't wanna miss that do I?"

"You sure don't.."

"Later stupot." she squeezes back through the window, and out the house, thank god.

"Cant she just use the door? Or not even come in at all?" I complain.

"Hush now Stu, she's a very nice young lady." Mum scolds from over the counter, than turning her back to me to face the stove.

"You of all people could use a nice lady."

"I don't like her mum." I groan.

"I'm not saying you do, I'm just saying your not going to get any younger, and someone special wouldn't hurt."

"Maybe I already have someone!" Uh oh, did I just say that? And what exactly did i mean by that?

Mum whips around.

"What? Who?"

"No one, I was joking." I attempt to cover this up.

"OH no you weren't." she scurries over and takes a seat across from me.

"I know when my boy is joking, and now isn't one of those times, you've got a girlfriend.."

Well.. She's not exactly my girlfriend.. And she's not exactly a girl at all..

"Come on tell me." She whiles, taking a hold of one of my hands.

"You can trust your own mother, cant you?"

"Theres nothing to tell you!" Well.. that's not exactly true..

"Stuart." she groans. "I want to know."

"Mum, I swear I don't have a girlfriend. Honest!" See, now that wasn't a lie. Theres a someone, but that someone isn't a girlfriend.. or a girl.

"Fine." she gives in, dropping my hand that she's been clutching, and walks back to the stove.

Its now occurring to me, that my head is still pounding like a drum.

"As I was saying before our weird neighbor interrupted." I begin.

"That stuff didn't work, my head still hurts.. and I want my pills back.."

"Don't even start." she says sharply, not even facing me.

"Start what?" I say. "Theres nothing to start, I've been off the pills for about a week now, and my head still hurts, I want them back!"

"Well your not getting them!" she snaps. "Stuart Harold, I'm your mother and I know what's best for you."

"I haven't even been able to function!" I raise my voice. "This morning's the first time I've gone anywhere in a week!"

"What?" She asks. "You haven't been anywhere in a week?"

"Yup."

"Why?"

"Because of my damn head! I can barely even move when i get these headaches."

"Your moving right now, aren't you?"

"I'm sitting down, that doesn't count." I sigh.

"Mum, please.. I need them.."

She sighs and puts a hand to her head. "I'm not doing this right now.."

"Than when?" My voice nearly evolves to a shout, as the beating in my head worsens.

Her eyes melt me, as she looks as though she's going to cry.

"Listen, I'll take you to the doctor." She says slowly. "And they're going to tell you that you don't need the pills.. understand? If they say you need them, so be it, but they're not going to."

"Than why take me?"

"To show you." she says. "To show you that you can be okay on your own.."

I sink my head back into my arms, in hopes of helping my head.. nope.

Be okay on my own...What a load, I'm already okay! Gorillaz are going to have a new album, Russ is back, Murdoc's been nicer-

Than I remember. I remember why Murdoc's been nicer.. And maybe things aren't so okay afterall..

Sure, I've brought people to family dinner before.. Girlfriends, friends... But I think Murdoc lyes under his OWN category.

Dad finishes off the last few sentences of some story he's been telling, batting his arms wildly for every detail.

"And so the woman's shoe, just FLYS off and hits Eddie right in the head! Knocked him out cold for ten minutes, at least."

"Must have been some shoe." Mum says, patting him on the back.

"Yeah, a combat boot." He says, and enters into a deadly subject change.

"So Murdoc, I reckon Stuart's a pretty good Band mate?"

"Pretty much so." Murdoc answers. "He's got a good voice you know? Ladies cant get enough of him.. Sometimes men too."

I kick his leg sharply, under the table.

"See, we didn't even know he could sing." Dad says.

Mum nods. "He was always so shy about that sort of thing."

"I was not!" I protest, attempting to make a break at a firm piece of meatloaf, with my fork.

"I just didn't know I could either. Never tried."

"that's no excuse." Dad laughs.

"Well.." Murdoc stretches. "I should be off to the Winnebago. spose its a bit late."

"Winnebago?" mum asks. "You mean your sleeping in there? Nonsense."

"No, its quite alright." Murdoc says. "Its actually quite comfortable.. I'd call it a palace on wheels."

"Yeah, Rachel if he wants to sleep in there go ahead and let him, besides the couch isn't much comfortable is it?"

She shrugs and looks to her plate. "Stuart's got a double bed.."

Instead of choking on a word, I choke on a bite of meatloaf I've managed to barely swallow, spitting it back to the plate.

"Chew your food, boy." Mum scolds.

"Double bed my arse, Their not lovers.." Dad says, causing my throat to trip over another piece of hardened meatloaf. I wonder what Murdoc's thinking right now..

"The men need their space."

"Fine." Mum settles. "Well let us know if you change your mind."

Murdoc finishes off with some kind of goodbye, that i don't listen to (I'm too busy tripping over the conversation that was just held) and parts out the door. Thank god that's over.

Double bed my arse, Their not lovers.. I should be laughing about that right now, But I'm not. If things were normal between the lines of me and Murdoc, I'd be laughing.. Hell, If things were normal between us we wouldn't be here in the first place.

I pick my plate from the table and hurry it over to the sink, due to the fact that I'm eager to go to bed without another word from my parents. .But I'm not that lucky am

"What a Lovely young man." Mum says from behind me, taking my dish into her own hands.

"Yeah, he seems alright, I don't see what you were complaining about Stu." Dad decides to add.

"Yeah, yeah whatever." I say. "We've all established that I didn't have much to complain about." That was a bluff.. They don't know the half of it.

Mum turns her head to dad from the sink.

"Madden dropped by today."

"Madden?" Dad scratches his head as if he cant remember. "You mean the girl that used to make whale noises by Stuart's window?" He laughs on those last few words.

"that's the one." I mutter.

"Oh." Dad says. "Nice girl, that one."

Mum sighs. "Stuart could use a nice girl.."

"That he could." Dad says.

"I don't like her." I groan, for the second time today. "She creeps me out."

Mum shrugs. "I don't see why.."

"She made whale noises at my window. She held up pictures of em too! You guys know i hate whales!" A shutter, on the word whale climbs up my spine.

"I can barely even say the word."

"You said it twice there, Stu." Dad teases.

Mum sighs, and decides to soften the situation. She turns away from the sink.

"Honey, we just want you to have someone you can rely on."

These little nags are piling the stress up inside me.. And what's good for stress. You know what is good for stress.. But i made that fucking bet. Damn it.

"Your not getting any younger Stuart." Dad coughs. "And that Madden is a nice girl.. Why don't you ask her out?"

"I don't want madden.."

Dad raises an eyebrow and slightly cocks his head.

"You say that like you want someone else.."

"AHA!" Mum turns around and points a finger at me.

"I knew it! Who is she, who is she?"

"Christ." I mutter, escaping the scene and going out the front door.

"Where are you going?" she asks.

"I Dunno. Somewhere. Love you guys. Goodnight."

The door shuts, and whatever goodnight she gave me back is blocked out by the sound of my own thoughts swimming in my ears. Where am I going? I don't even know.. The Winnebago I guess. But why? I guess something just driving me to go in there.. I pry open the Winnebago's heavy door. I guess he forgot to lock it..

I step inside, and some kind of sloppy smacking noise enters my ears.. _Oh, he isn't.. Is he?_

I turn my head to see a chubby woman, in only a tight bra and sweatpants, animaling her self all over him, glued by the mouth over on the bed. Where I should be.

Its Madden. On MINE...

"What the fuck?" I mutter.

She unslops her mouth from his and whips her head over.

"Oh hey Stu. I guess i did have a chance!"

"Muds, what are you doing?" I ask.. Actually wait, I didn't ask that. I just thought that, and what I'm REALLY doing is stomping over and picking her up by the wrist, to drag her away.

"2D what the fuck are you doing?" Murdoc shouts.

"You know my name, arsehole." I say heatedly, as I pull madden through the Winnebago.

"Stu, what's the deal?" she asks, as I find a way to get her out the door without exactly pushing her out. Though I'd love to.

"Sod off!" I shout, slamming the door with every inch of might i can rummage. I turn around slowly, to see Murdoc sitting on the bed with a dumbfounded look on his stupid face.

"What the fuck was that about, cock block?"

"YOU TELL ME!" Rage swishes through my blood as I make my way back over to the bed where he's lying oh so casually.

"You cant just bring some..some FAT SLAG IN HERE." I add.

"S' my Winnebago. I'd think I can do whatever I want with it."

I shake my head furiously. "NOT IF IT MEANS BRINGING FREE WILLY IN HERE."

"I thought you were scared of free Willy?"

"I AM ,THAT's NOT THE POINT."

"Hold up a second." He perches himself up and holds up finger.

"Your jealous, aren't you?"

I cock my head. "OF THAT ELEPHANT? WHY WOULD I BE?"

"Just as i thought." He laughs. "You horny little bastard, you cant even stand it, Look at you, your practically on fire!"

"THAT'S WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU WALK IN TO FIND SHAMOO WITH-" I stop on the last few words, unable to finish. With what? With who?

"Sweet Satan Stuart what's gotten into you? Its kind of hot, I'll admit that.."

I attempt to sputter out some words, but a rush of fury holds them in the back of my throat.

He sighs tiredly. "You don't wanna break your bet do you? So listen tweedle dumb-"

Some sizzling, melting emotion makes me push him over mid-word to the bed. I put my knees on either side of him and lean in close to his face.

"Don't call me that." Hanging on that last word, I take everything in full stride and fold his lips into mine, holding his face with my hands.

He breaks free. "I knew you'd lose. No one can resist me."

My hand goes to my pocket, and fumbles around for a scrap of paper. I pull out a bill, and toss it on him, so it gently floats down and slowly lands on the arch of his chest.

"Fuck the bet." I murmur, rejoining our mouths once again.

I think this will be a bet worth losing.

To be continued? Lalala :)

Please review and tell me what you think :)


	15. 15: The Guidelines of Not Being Gay

**Chapter 14: The Guidelines of Not Being Gay**

**WARNING: INAPROPRIETNESS! BLAHH. BEWARE OF REQUESTED LEMONS.**

CONTINUED:

Sweat acts as a glue between us, though the air was cold before. As If we needed any sort of glue in the first place.. Our own hot sweet emotions are enough. My shirt begins to grow clammy, so I detatch my lips from Murdocs and tug my shirt over my head in the quickest possible way as he removes his.

I lower myself back down on top of him and dig my nails into his sharp chest for grip.

"Fuck cut your nails." He groans, until his mouth twists into a feindish smile.

"No wait, actually dont. It kind of turns me on."

I laugh, and move my mouth to his neck, laying kiss after kiss onto it, taking small breaks to talk. "Everything turns you on does'nt it?"

"Some things more than others.."

I bury my nails deeper into his chest, and demouth his neck for a moment, to press my face close to his.

"And what about me?"

"what about you?"

"Do I turn you on?" I breath hotlly.

He raises an eyebrow and pulls his hand up to my head, and folds a few strands of stray hair behind my ear.

"What do you think?"

"Thats not an answer." I say quietly. "I want you to say it."

He peers into my eyes without so much as a blink.

"You, Stuart Harold Pot." He says slowly, and quietly. "Fucking turn me on."

"Good." A slow smile spreads across my face, as i'm all of the sudden aware of the fact that im extremley hard in the pants. And apparently, one way or another Murdoc feels this.

"Someones exited." He chuckles. "Damn that was fast."

"Shut up." I chuckle, as i begin to feel something rise beneath me.

"You..You've Just gotten hard too, didnt you?"

He shrugs. "Chain reaction, I guess."

The tip of my fingernail slowly finds its way down his bare chest.

"So.. Now?" I whisper.

A moment passes, and it almost looks like he's considering it.

He nods quickly. "Take the pants off. Drop em.

But instead of obeying, my head drifts off to something from years ago. A dream.

Drop the panties, come on than

I laugh to myself, because I havent thought of this in years. If I could have seen myself now.. And back than I was so mortified by that dream.. And now..

"Stuart?"

I turn back to Murdoc. "Huh?"

"The pants? Do away with them, I'm horny as fuck."

I shake my head. "Way to be mysterious and descrete."

"You want me to be descrete?" He laughs, removing his own pants and trousers. (Yup, Still bigger than mine)

He leans in and cups his hands to his mouth.

"Im gonna fuck you, Dont tell anyone." He whispers jokingly..Well, not jokingly, he is going to do that..

His words build up an impulse in my chest, and land myself back over onto him, pushing my mouth into his.

He breaks off the kiss, and sets me back up straight with his hands.

"Am I going to have to undress you myself?"

He's not waiting any longer. I get the message. I pull away from him, and with a pulsation in my groin, I tug my pants and trousers off and throw them aside.

With not a second to lose, I crash back into him in an explosion of passion, and push my tongue through his sharp teethe, nearly cutting it. And I dont even care. Once more, we pull free of eachother.

"Did you get any lube?" I ask nervously.

"So youve learned the word, I see."

"Yeah yeah, did you get any?" I say hushly.

"Fuck." He mutters, looking around the winnabego in hopes of something to use.

"So is that a no?" I ask, with a hint of scared dissapointment.

He sighs. "Will lotion work?"

I shrug. "Yeah, I guess thats fine, you got any?"

"No."

I sigh, as his eyes turn to a small brown womans bag in the corner.

"But shamoo probably does." He grabs it and begins to fumble around madly. Madden must have left her purse..

"Aha!" He makes a victory noise, and pulls out a small pink bottle labled Lovley De Luccious.

"So." I huff. "How are we going to do this?"

"Well, the last couple times we didnt have a bed, we do now so this should be a helluvah lot easier..Sit on me."

"What?"

"Like, a sitting thing!" He says assuringly.

"Isnt that for..women?" I ask. "Like, women and guys?"

He shakes his head, and begins to drizzle the lotion into his hand, and rubbing it down on his john. "No no, I saw it on the telle."

"You saw it on the telle?" I ask. "What in blazes have you been watching?"

"That dosent matter, We're ready now, arent we?"

"As we'l ever be."

He nods, and arches himself in a sitting position on the bed, back against the wall.

"Now, Your turn." He says. I nod shakily, and lower myself slowly onto him, until its fully in. And here strikes the pain again.

"You alright?" He whispers, leaning in and kissing the back of my ear. Oh shit, I wish he wouldnt move that much.

A bead of blood blemishes my bottom lip that i've been biting. I nod anyways, and produce the best Yes that i can.

"Mhm." I breath, through the pain i'm in. I may have done this a few times, but it still manages to pain me the same everytime. He slowly, than quickly rocks our bodies back and forth, going from pain to pleasure. Than pain again.

"Quite a headache reliver, huh?" He breaths.

"Oh fuck yeah." And ive needed this. I've needed this for so long.. With every movement, my croch pulsates more and more as the pleasure starts to seep in. And its here.

"Fuck that whale of a woman." Murdoc pants. "This is all I needed stuart."

An impulse escapes my chest. "Say it again."

"Say what?" He pants heavily.

"My name.."

"Stuart." He moans through deep breathing. "Stuart, fucking stuart, Stuart."

"Murdoc." I groan in return. "M-MUDS-" My voice begins to raise as sweat thickens through my hair. He clasps a sweaty hand over my mouth.

"As wonderful as you sound, shut up. Your parents will hear." He whispers, one arm around my torso, other hand to my mouth.

Shit, My parents! I think to myself. Im doing it in my parents driveway...And thats really hot.

I voice my thoughts as he removes his hand. "Were shagging in my parents driveway..." I breathe. "And thats kind of hot.."

"Your kind of hot." He whispers hotly in my ear, swiveling back and forth, quicker and quicker.

The air grows stickier, as does the back of my neck when something wet begins to rub the back of my neck. I turn slightly, to see his tongue that seems to go on for miles, gently stroking the back of my neck. My neck turned, he slides it as much as he can into my mouth, without shifting us around to much..down there. five, and than ten, and than twenty, and than thirty minutes pass before i eventually lose track of time, and sweat covers every inch of our skin.

And I lose it. Not my mind or anything, just my ability to hold back any longer, releasing mine onto the sheets. Damn it, I was first again. Soon enough (or not soon at all) He pulls free, and lets go, freeing his own thick white. And I've made it through the third, or technichally fourth time, alive, and feeling better than I was before. Thats always a perk.

The heavy breathing and moaning has left, leaving only the sound of heavy panting and breathing as we lay close, on the dampened sheets.

"Muds?" I ask, though his eyes stay closed.

"Hm?"

I prepare a question thats been hovering in my head, through hot breath.

"The first time we did this.. Why did you take my movies?."

"Just.. Go to sleep." He murmurs, than drifting off into his own twisted dreams.. And through my own almost sleep, some thoughts pop up in my mind.

He didnt leave I think to myself. He stayed.. And now he's Just asleep..

And even though he's sleeping.. thats already one of the most wonderful things.. Because he didnt leave.. And this is the only time our shagging didnt end with a fight.

Letting go of my own thoughts, yet keeping them near, I doze off into my own sleep, with Murdoc less than a foot away.. Less than a few inches away, actually.. Close..for once, close..

Waking up is usually the worst part of the day. The keyword is usually. There are days, when I dont mind it. Today, is one of those days.

The secure feeling of two arm clasped tightly around me as i lye on my side, and warm breath tickling the back of my neck becomes noticable as i start to awake. Oh my god he's still here!.. and.. cuddling me? That word, cuddling.. It seems weird to use. But that seems like what it is. He musnt be awake.. Just a a sleep habit? But how does a person like Murdoc have cuddling as a sleep habit.. I'm sure he's never done that in his life..

Two cold feet brush up against mine as he shifts into me, and groans in his sleep, pulling me in closer to him. And instead of flinching away, or escaping.. I just stay. And half of me wishes i could stay longer.. but the other half knows he'l wake up in time, and snap away, storming off in an angry rage.. But for now, things are normal.. a good normal.

As I carefully burrow in without waking him, I begin to think again: What made me change my mind? I mean, before this last month I did'nt even want to see him. Now its one of the things I look forward too.. Maybe along with headaches, also comes extreme change of mind. Shit, stop thinking stuart, just enjoy everything.

My eyes slowly close, as I let go of my suroundings to leave them for sleep, but I keep every bit of it with me. Every bit...

...

Knock Knock Knock

My eyes quickly peel themselves open. Murdoc's still here, and i'm still in his grasp. But there's no time to congratualate myself, someones here.

Knock Knock

"huh, what?" His head pops up with a jolt. Ofcourse, he takes his arms back imidietly and heads for the door. Hand on the door knob, he turns his tired head to me.

"Fuck, Hide stuart!" He shouts in a whisper. "Go on, get!"

Covering my manhood with a stray blanket, I jump up from the bed and claim the space beneath a built in table, hidden enough so that I cant be seen, but I can still see what's going on here.

After checking to make sure i'm not doddling around somewhere, Murdoc opens up the door to find my mother standing there. What's she doing here?

"Oh hello Murdoc." she greets, but getting straight to the point. "Have you seen Stuart?"

"He ran down to the store for some fags." He stitches together a quick lie, and throws it out.

"Oh stuart and his cigarettes." she sighs. "Well, there'l be some food for you two inside in about ten minutes."

"Alright than." Murdoc says polietly. "Thanks."

"No problem dear." And on that, I think Mum leaves. Well that was close.

As soon as the door shuts, Murdoc voices my thoughts.

"Damn, that could have been bad."

I crawl out from under the table (hitting my head on the way out), blanket still draped tightly around me.

I rub the damaged patch on my head. "Owch."

"Your fucking smart." He chuckles at my bruised head, pulling on the rest of his clothes. With a shaky yawn, I slump back over to the bed, and pull on my trousers, followed by my shirt. Getting dressed, is closley atatched to an awkward silence that follows. What do i say? He casually sets himself down next to me, and fires up a cigarette.

"Oy.. eh, Murdoc?" I get his atention. He turns away from a freshly lit fag, to face me.

"What?"

"Are we..." I begin, deciding weather or not i should ask this. Regardless, it slips out.

"Are we gay?" I ask. And thats really been bothering me.

He lets out a tired, frustrated sigh and shakes his head.

"I'm not. You most likely are."

I cock my head. "What'd ya mean by that?"

"I mean.." he explains. "You like it in the arse. I dont."

I shake my head. "I never said I liked it, where'd you get that idea?"

He gives me a seedy look, and turns to face the front, and clearing his throat.

"Murdoc!" He mimics, in a high lass like voice. "Oh Murdoc, say my name, say my name!"

My cheeks pinken. "Oh be quiet." I chuckle, clocking him in the shoulder softly.

"I dont even sound like that.." I defend myself.

"Your right, your voice is a bit higher than that."

"Soo.." I begin, trying to clear things up. "Were not gay?"

"Correction.. IM not gay. Again, you probably are."

I shake my head. "I dont feel gay. I'm not attracted to other guys or anything."

"You partook in this." He says. "That makes you pretty gay."

"But than wouldnt that make you gay too?"

He shrugs, and blows out a stream of smokey gray. "It's not gay if your in back."

I try for a subject change. "We should probably go inside now."

With some typical Murdoc reply, we set off out the winnabego, and inside the house where My mum stands in the kitchen, mothering away.

"Theres food on the table." she says as we enter the kitchen. As i make for a leave, she turns her head to me.

"Oh, stu theres something on your face, let me get it."

In the other corner, Murdoc begins to chuckle into his hand.

"What is it?" I ask.

"Something white." she says, licking her thumb and begining on rubbing away at my face.

Something white.. Hold on i never ate anything white.. I wonder what- Oh fuck. Murdoc fuck you and your aiming.

"I can get it mum, its alright." I say nervously as she scrubs away at the splotch on my face with her own thumb. In the other corner, it apears murdoc is having trouble with controlling his own laughter.

"Obviosly you cant if you didnt even get it in the first place." she scolds, sticking her thumb back in her mouth, and than back to the splotch on my face. Oh god, i think i'm gonna be sick..

"What is this anyways?" she asks. "What did you eat that was white?"

"pudding." i lie quickly. "It was..pudding."

"Well i think it has gone bad, hon." she says. "It smells like its gone bad."

I quickly jerk away and rub at my face with my own hand.

"I got it mum, its fine."

"Whatever." she shrugs. "Go on and eat."

Pretty much mortified, I head over to the dining table, with Murdoc close behind. We take our seats, and i turn my head to his.

"Why didnt you tell me i had it on my face?" i whisper.

"I thought it was kinda hot." he chuckles, picking up a strand of my hair, and placing it back down.

"Its in your hair too." He points out.

"Controll your aim." I whisper.

"I did." he laughs.

"Your sick." I say, quietly bothering my eggs with a fork.

"And proud." he adds, getting to work on his food. Just now, my dad enters the room.

"Oh stuart there you are." He says. "You never came in last night, where were you?"

"Band practice." I lie. "Fell asleep in the winnabego."

"Ah, good than." he says, leaving for the front door. "Well i'm off to repair the whirlagig. You two lovers have a good day." The door shuts, and i'm left marinating in the remnant of this little talk.

"Never came." Murdoc laughs quietly. " Well you did mate. Too soon if you ask me."

I softly elbow him at this sick joke, as mum walks in.

"I'm off to the hospital." she says. "Stuart, be ready i'm picking you up at three."

"For what?" I ask.

"Your apointment.. with the doctors, you know, about the pills."

"Oh." Murdoc says, remembering something. "I'm supposed to say that stuart's not a druggie.. and that he's okay."

I whip my head to murdoc and fire my eyes at him. "Screw you." I mutter.

"What?" He says. "I did what you asked."

"Very nice Stuart Harold." Mum says dissapointedly. "three oclock. Please be ready."

She takes a hold of my head and kisses it a few times, before setting out the door.

"Bye!" she calls out. The door shuts, leaving the house quiet.

"Yeah, very nice Stuart Harold." Murdoc mimics.

Very nice Stuart Harold indeed.

**NOTE: Yeah, god Stuart Harold. Well, hope that was enjoyed :)**

**Please review, and tell me what you think! :D**


	16. 16:Watching Out For Your Kiwi's

**Chapter 15: Watching out for your Kiwi's**

**FUNFACT: I was gonna name this chapter saving your kiwi's but it looked too much like shaving your kiwi's, And though that very well IS a big part of being a twenty something year old man, You wont find Stuart doing that in this chapter :) READ ON YOU FELLOWS :D**

**MY SPELLCHECKER SUCKS! FORGIVE ANY SPELLING/GRAMMAR ERRORS! **

Doctor Mullgle is a funny creature. he's always got this stern, hardened look frozen onto his face, which is usually un-chippable, unless his intern Cheryl tells him something humorous. Than, you can usually watch the ice melt off his face, and watch as something warm might take over. But today, I'm less Lucky. Cheryl's out sick, so my hopes of avoiding his stern expressions are thrashed.

"I'm going to start off asking you some questions, Stuart." He begins, glaring into his clipboard like he's angry at it.

"Just answer them honestly, and than we'll move on."

I nod. "Alright, shoot."

He clears his throat, and peers into me, ready to fire questions.

"How have you been feeling lately?"

"Fine." I answer shortly. Short answers are always best in these situations. Unless i want my pills back..

"Well-" I add on. "Except for the headaches. Those have been brutal."

"Ah." he nods. "So your headaches haven't been any better since we've discontinued your vikodin?"

No duh, idiot. I think to myself. Thats what the fucking medicine was for.

"Nope." I answer. "Just worse."

"Worse." He processes my words, and inks them to paper with his pen.

"And in regards to your latest situation, do you think you would benefits from getting your pills back?"

In regards to my latest situation..what? I don't even really know how to answer that.

"Uh.. yeah?" I answer as i wait for a buzzer to ring, and tell me I've answered wrong.. that I've lost the game. But all i get is a nod from doctor mullgle.

"I see.." he strokes a spot on his chin where it looks like he wishes there was a beard.

"When on your pills, did you look forward to your next dosage, or worry about not being able to acquire them?"

Yes, and yes.

"No, and no." I lie.

"How about taking more than the prescribed amount per day, did you ever do that?" he asks.

I think back to the label on the bottle. As I recall, it was one with each headache, and no more than one or two a day. Was it no more than one or no more than two? Either way, i didn't follow it.

"Nah, I didn't take anymore than one a day." I answer, a complete lie.

"Good.. good." He says quietly. "Were almost done here.. Did your pills uplift you, or bring you joy through out the day?" Sort of...

"Not really." I lie, once again. "Just solved the headaches, is all." They solved more than the headaches, that's for sure..

"One last question." he sighs. "Do you think you should get your pills re-prescribed, Stuart?"

This, is the only one I'm not going to answer with a lie.

"Yes." I answer.

He stares at me for a moment, making me quite uncomfortable before rapping things up with a completion sigh.

"Alright than. We've got all your tests done, questions answered.. Anything else we can help you with today?"

"Nope." I nod. "Thanks."

"You sure?" He asks. "No colon exams, STD tests, prostate checks?"

The word STD hits my brain like a silver bullet. And with it, comes a whole load of reality.

Murdoc sleeps with hundreds of women a year, filthy ones..I think to myself.

And I slept with him...

Shit, this is the first time this has hit me. I mean, what if I caught something? What if he gave me something?

"Actually." I say awkwardly. "I kind of.. Yeah, I need help with something.."

"Well I was only joking." he cocks his head. "But if you need a doctors help.. What do you need?"

Oh lord, how do i phrase this? What do I say. Hey doc, I shagged my friend who I'm gaining feelings for, and i wanna know if they gave me something. By the way, he's a guy..

"I need an.." I say quietly. "Std.. check." I mutter.

"what was that?" he asks. "I didn't hear that."

"Std check.." I say, a bit louder.

"Sorry son, my ears have been all funked up lately you'll have to speak up."

"I need an std check!" The door flings open at this moment, as I've spoken up. The doctor heard me.. And so did my mother, who's just entered the room.

She wasn't thrilled. that's all I can say. Oh wait, no its not. I CAN say that she lectured me until my ears were ready to fall to the floor, shouted at me for about ten minutes, and followed it all by asking me in front of all the other doctors and interns, who in the hell I was having unsafe sex with. Oh wait, that's happening right now..

"Who?" Mum shouts over the hall of the hospital, dragging me uncomfortably by the wrist.

"WHO'S GIVING YOU THESE DISEASES?"

"No one!" I answer nervously. "Quiet down mum, come on."

"No one!?" she repeats. "NO ONE? THAN WHO ARE YOU GETTING THEM FROM?"

"I don't have any!" Well.. not that I know of..

She stops dragging me for a moment, and sighs, turning her head to me.

"Than why on EARTH were you going to get tested?"

"I..I.." stutters spill out my mouth. "I dunno.. Safety?, I just..I don't know!"

"that's the PROBLEM is that you don't know." she says worriedly as she puts her hands to my face.

"With all these new diseases out there, you CANT just go sleeping around and having unprotected sex with random slags!"

"I'm not!" I defend myself, removing her hands from my red cheeks with my own hands.

"Mum, if you'll give me a chance to explain.."

Her hands press to her hips as she looks up at me with nervous, angry, and motherly eyes, all rolled into two.

"Okay.. Explain this to me."

Crap, now i actually have to explain this to her.. Or explain something to her..

"Madden." A lie falls out my mouth before I have time to keep it in.

"You.. you slept with Madden?"

"I thought you didn't even like her." she says.

"I don't!" I defend myself. "I really really don't, but I was drunk."

A confused look spreads across her face. "was she drunk too?"

"I don't know, I don't think so." I shrug. That answer might not have been so wise.

"So she took.. she took advantage of you?" she asks with sad eyes.

"No, no no no no no,! I think she was drunk too mum.." I say sweatily.

"You.. you actually slept with her?" She asks sympathetically.

"Yeah." I lie, nodding my head. Its a gross lie, but it'll have to do..

"Oh my god.. my poor baby!" she says sorrily, pulling me into a tight hug.

"Mum, people are staring."

"I don't care!" she hisses, squeezing me with all her might. "My baby might have herpes, or something worse."

"thats disgusting." I mutter. "Don't say that."

"Yes, it is." she says, setting me free. "I mean.. MADDEN? that's.. honey, that's really just..gross."

"You said JUST yesterday that i should date her, which i refuse to do by the way."

"Yeah but I didn't mean it.." she shrugs. "I mean i want good looking grandchildren."

That reminds me.. How could Murdoc even consider doing her? I mean.. I guess he'll do anything.. but still..just..ew.

"Well.." mum sighs. "I guess we probably should get you tested than, huh?"

"You don't have to come with.." I say quietly. "I'm a big boy, I can handle myself."

"Oh your embarrassed,that's adorable." she laughs, bouncing back completely. "Its nothing to be embarrassed about honey, a skag took advantage of you, that's all! Come on baby, lets go get you tested."

And it amazes me, how my mother can still treat me like a four year old, as we walk away to get me tested for STD's. And part of me wishes I could tell her the truth. Why I want to get tested, and not that phony lie about madden and all.. But the truth.. Its far away, and untouchable. Lies will do for now.

The scent of smoke and Murdoc's cheap cologne he puts on to attract skeevey women, fills the car like its supposed to be there. Like its natural. And like a natural smell, I like it. Its something I'm used to now.. like the smell of your mums perfume, or your dads coffee. I've only grown to like the smell of smoky musk in the past month or so, though. Sure, before it didn't smell bad or anything.. It just has a different effect on me now. Like I'm nostalgic for rolling between the sheets of Murdoc's shabby Winnebago bed, or the back of a Hotwired pickup, the scent drifting around like a warm wave.

He turns his head to me from the drivers seat.

"What's with that look on your face?"

My mind drifts back to this morning as I answer. "What look?"

"I Dunno, just that look on your face. Scrape it off before i scrape it off for you."

Murdoc confuses me, that's for sure. He does weird things. Like he'll act like this, all rotten and mean, threaten to hurt me, ACTUALLY hurt me, throw jabs and insults at me like darts.. the list goes on.

But than theres times when he's.. actually decent towards me.. Most times, its because were fucking, and you cant really be mean to someone when your fucking them.. But than this morning I woke up.. and I was in his arms. Just being held, like it was supposed to happen. And you don't hold someone if you don't care about them.. even if your just asleep.

"She ate it." He surprises me by speaking up.

"What?" I ask. "Who ate what?"

"Your mother." He laughs. "She ate your face stain.. Well, technically it was mine.."

"She didn't eat it." I defend her. "Its not like she knew."

"Its still fucking hilarious." he says. "I mean, she just wiped it off your face and put her thumb in her mouth. She fucking ate it."

"Oh shut up." I warn him half jokingly, half serious. "This is my mother your talking about, y'know?"

"All I'm saying is its pretty comical that your mother ate my-"

"DON'T SAY IT!" I shout, covering my ears as a laugh escapes my throat.

"I DON'T WANNA HEAR IT!"

"Oh have it your way." He sighs, as i decup my hands from my ears. I think I was always listening.

"Your mother ate my cum!" He shoots out quickly. I elbow him playfully.

"To hell with you."

"Been there and back." He mutters. "You wouldn't like it. Being you, and all.. Flowery people don't like it much down there."

I raise an eyebrow and turn my head to him. "Flowery?"

"Flowery."

"Are you calling me a faggot?" I ask.

"No, I'm calling you flowery. But yes, your a faggot too."

"I'm not gay!" I shout.

He raises an eyebrow. "You wanna explain the last few fucks, than? And your little noises you made?"

"Well.." I stutter nervously. "Than if that's the case, that makes you gay too."

He shakes his head and ashes a white stubb I've just now noticed he's holding.

"Again, I was in back. It's not gay if your in back."

"Its JUST as gay." I protest.

"It is not!" He scoffs. " If your GIVING its not gay. Not at all. that's what we do with women isn't it? If your RECEIVING, Its completely gay."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

And so he opens his mouth, and the lesson begins. "Men give. As in- we stick our cocks in broads, and they receive, as in they take it in them. that's how it is. So if your a man, and you receive cock, than your Gay. When your a man, and you insert your dick into a man or a woman, its still not gay. It is when your receiving it, but not when your getting it in you."

"Thanks for that lesson." I say sarcastically "Gee now I really know."

"That your gay? that, why don't you."

"I was being sarcastic!" I shout. "I'm not gay.."

"Than why do you do this, huh?"

"Because.." I sigh softly. "Its just. .I don't know, I'm not gay or anything, I said that already. I'm not even attracted to other guys.. But with you, it's different.. it just feels right."

"are you saying your attracted to me? I don't know 2D, that's pretty gay.."

That, I think was the first time i think he's called me 2D in quite a while.. And I don't like it..

"I..I- never said that." I trip over my words like they're little rocks, waiting for me to fall over them.

"You implied it." He says. "And to fuck someone, you kind of have to be attracted to them."

I shrug, and begin to let go of whatever little scrap of anger I'm still holding onto, as another emotion takes its place... a warmer one.

"Well than." My words begin slow. "Maybe I am."

"Thought so."

"And if you have to be attracted to someone to shag them.. than you must be a little bit attracted to me?"

"I don't have to be." He says. "I mean, you remember the chubby girl from last night? I couldn't possibly have thought she was alright in the looks department."

"Then.. " I begin. "Why do you always say that stuff i do turns you on, or that you think things about me or things i do are, kind of hot. You confuse me, you do."

"Well than.. " he grumbles. "Maybe you are-"

crunch crunch crunch

"what the hell is that?" And I turn around to see a chubby woman peeking out behind one of Murdocs many piles of junk, squat to the floor digging around in a bag of chips and staring wide eyed at us.

"What- what the hell?" I stutter. Murdoc turns around at this, and immediately pulls the Winnebago to the side of the road, halting it.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I ask shakily. Shit, she'll tell everyone. She told everyone about the whale thing, she'll tell everyone this.

"Looking for my purse." she says from the ground as she stuffs another chip in her fat mouth. "But it looks like I've found allot more haven't I?"

"No, you haven't and YOU'LL GET THE FUCK OUT RIGHT NOW." Murdoc shouts.

She shrugs, and gets up to leave. But she cant go! She'll tell! I whip my head to Murdoc.

"We cant let her leave! She'l fucking tell everyone."

"Right." he nods. "she wont get far, that doors jammed."

She fumbles around with the lock a bit before she realizes she's not getting out.

"You wanna open this door?" she asks.

"No, not really." Murdoc hisses. "I don't think I want to."

His words from years ago enter my head.

"Well that's not a good reason is it? No, I don't think I want to."

Well he didn't let me out that door that day either.. and I don't think she's getting out too soon either.

"You cant just keep me in here because I caught you two in your little gay act.."

"We're not gay." I shake my head furiously. "Its.. Its not what you think it is."

"Oh, it is, I know it is." she says snottily. "I didn't expect it, I'll give you that."

"Its not true!" I shout. "Its not what you think-"

"Save it Stuart." Murdoc sighs. "The nosy broad knows."

And that's it. Were caught. Everything we've been trying to hide is all the sudden dug up from under us for the world to see. And theres nothing to do about it.

"Madden." I say sadly. "Were friends right? You wont tell anyone."

"Stu." she shakes her head. "You know were buddies and all, but I cant keep this a secret!"

Murdoc fires out the drivers seat, getting up in a fury. "Oh you can, AND YOU WILL!"

I hold him back as he goes for her.

"Madden.." I beg. "Please."

"I have nothing against it!" she laughs. How dare her fucking laugh at this situation.

"And neither will anyone else, Stu! The world will wanna know!"

"I don't care if they want to know!" I shout, my eyes nearly ready to wet. But I wont let them.

"They don't need to know, this is between me and Murdoc, and us only."

"Think of what you could do for the gays of the world!" she says happily. "This'll groundbreaking!"

"I'll break your ground." Murdoc hisses, attempting to pull away from me.

"Stop it." I scold him. "Its over."

I try one last time. "Please madden. Come on."

She just shakes her head. "I've made my decision. I don't lie, and I'm not gonna lie to the world, or you by saying i wont tell anyone. I'm sorry. Now let me out of here!"

A heavy sigh escapes my chest, as i let go of murdoc.

"alright."

"alright?" Murdoc asks angrily. "ALRIGHT? FUCK NO, YOU CANT JUST LET HER TELL PEOPLE!"

"WHAT ELSE CAN I DO?" I shout hotly. "WE CANT JUST KEEP HER IN HERE."

"WE-WE-" He stutters as his voice starts on calming down. "We can just-"

"No, theres nothing we can JUST do." I sigh. "all we can do is cope with this." I shake my head in the left over silence and walk over to the door where she is. Accepting the situation as much as I can, I put my hands to the handle.

"Stuart-" Murdoc says quietly.

I look over to him and tell him with my eyes that its okay. We'll just have to do the best we can. We cant just keep her in here, its against the law! And I wouldn't want him to be back in prison.. Or me for that matter.

As I try at prying the door open, I find it just wont budge.

"Its jammed." I mutter, pulling back at the door. Maybe if I can just tug at it a bit. I decide to pull harder. It just wont go. The grip on my left hand slips due to nervous finger sweat, and my arm flies back to an unclear patch. My elbow hits something. Or someone.

I turn around to see Madden on the floor, out cold and a fresh pink mark on her forehead.

"shit." I mutter.

Murdoc cracks up immediately. "Bitch fucking disserved it, Brilliant Stuart, brilliant!"

"I didn't mean to do it!" I shake. "Oh fuck, I've just hit a girl."

"I was just going to call up el-menrone and have her sent off somewhere." He scratches his head.

"But this is much better."

"El menrone?" I ask, than shaking it off. "Never mind, what do i do? Do you think I've killed her?"

"Naw." He says. "She's just knocked out. Probably wont remember anything when she wakes-"

His eyes widen as his head swivels over to me.

"Wont remember anything?" I ask.

And its clear, we've both got the same idea here.

Madden's much more gullible than I thought, that's for sure. Alot of people wouldn't have believed they'd gotten incredibly wasted the night before, and knocked themselves out due to a night of incredible partying, and just dreamed the whole next day. But she did, and that's all that really matters.

Madden rubs her head as we walk her through her front yard to the door. "I don't feel hung over. My head just hurts."

"Welcome to my world." I laugh.

"But it all seemed so real!" she says. "I mean you guys were totally in love. you could see by the way you looked at each other."

"Crazy." I mutter. "Dreams are weird, huh?"

"I guess so." she says. "And you wanted to hide it and stuff."

"Did I? Well you wont find me doing stuff like that in the first place." I say as we hit the porch.

"Dreams." she shakes her head as she wobbles off through the front door. "Hate em. And thanks for picking my drunk ass off the sidewalk. Later!" The door closes, and were in the clear. Murdoc and I stroll off quietly, through maddens white picket fence and off towards the Winnebago, or wherever else.

"You haven't said a word." I say quietly. "what's up?"

He shrugs. "What made you willing to give everything up so fucking easy."

He's angry, I can tell. If madden would have made it through that door, I might have never seen him again. It would have been completely my fault.

"I honestly don't know." I sigh. "Thought it might have been best or something. Didn't want you to have to go back to Mexican prison."

"I wouldn't have let it happen." he scoffs. "Would have threw a rock at her on her way out or something. Would have called el Menrone like I said I would have."

"Good to know." I say. "But I'm sorry.. Sorry I almost let her get away."

"You kidding?" he laughs. "You saved us man. Accidently, but I owe you."

"Yeah, do you really?"

"No."

"I thought so." I laugh warmly. Even though I shouldn't laugh. Even though that's nothing to laugh at. I guess he dosent really owe me though. Accidents happen, and they save us sometimes..sometimes.

"I wouldn't have let it happen." He repeats, as we walk slow almost on purpose.

"I know." I tell him quietly. But do I really know? Would he really have stopped madden from leaving if I didn't accidently hit her in the face? I haven't a fucking clue. But I'll tell myself that he would have.

"What did you mean by maybe you are?" I ask.

"hm?"

"Earlier, before we noticed madden, you said Maybe you are-, but you never finished.. What were you going to say?"

He sighs and shakes his head at the ground like it did something wrong.

"You ask too many questions. I hate questions."

"You like it when interviewers ask you them." I poke at him with my words. "Why not me?"

He shrugs with his hands deep in his pockets.

"You ask weird questions. Some that I don't even know the answer too."

But i just have so many that he dosent answer. As in:

1: Why he had my movies the first night we shagged.

2: What he was going to say before Madden interrupted him.

3:Why he says he's not gay if he's always calling me hot and things..

4: Why he even wanted to be"mates with benefits" in the first place

5: I don't know... there's more, I just cant remember them.

"You never answer anything." I sulk.

"Boo-hoo." He fakes.

"How'd the appointment go?" He surprises me by asking.

And my mind tips back to the incident from a few hours ago.. Pissing in a cup for an std check, my mother yelling at me, all the awkward filling in the middle..

"Fine." I lie. "And er.. thanks for picking me up."

"Don't mention it." He says. ".. No I'm serious, you tell anyone and I'll rip your kiwis off."

I think I'll just end the conversation there, and let quiet take the wheel. Being quiet is nice sometimes.. Especially when it saves you from getting your Kiwi's ripped off.

So i leave it there. Walking in lit daytime, that feels like the sun should be setting.. like we should be strolling off linked by hands into the soon to be night, only for a credit screen to save us from an awaiting audience. But the sun dosent set, and our hands stay by themselves, hanging by our sides. The way they should be... The way they shouldn't be.. The way I don't want them to be. And confusion finds its way of sinking into my skin yet again..

**And that will be your hint that Ima start adding more cutesey stuff. BLEGHHHlalalal There you go, happy birthday :) **

**Pleasey please review broski's :) It would mean alot to hear whatcha think :D**


	17. 17: Suspicion and Lies

**Chapter 17: Suspicion and Lies**

**NOTE: Lalala enjoy this chapter :) Ignore spelling/grammer errors. Broken spell checker. Blaghh, enjoy it you people :)**

_*The world is spinning too fast, I'm buying lead Nike shoes. To keep myself tethered to the days I tried to lose.* _Yet another one of the songs from our first album bullets out my mothers car radio, as i sit with my feet kicked up on the dashboard.

Damn its been a decent amount of time since the first album came out, how many times does 19-2000 have to excrete itself from every car radio I turn to before the radio people get over themselves and put the first album back in they're music crate for a fucking change?

Alright, I guess that was a bit sour. In the beginning, hearing my own voice mellowing out the radio was cool. Screw cool, it was fantastic! We were top of the charts then, and I swear I couldn't walk to the movie store without being bombarded by a flock of teenage girls with gum stuck in their braces, and excitement on overdrive. Murdoc, on the other hand got all of the girls ABOVE eighteen. I'd asked him why once.

"Simple." He'd told me. "Blue hair and a squeaky English voice. That pretty much sums up every teenage girl's dream ever. Murdoc Niccals. That pretty much sums up every other woman's dream ever.

"Did you just use your own name to describe what you think every woman wants?" I'd asked him.

"Yes. Now shut up and pay attention to your mother when she's talking to you."

What? He'd never said that..

"Stuart!" Mum softly elbows me.

"Huh?"

"Are you even listening?"

"Yeah, yeah I heard you mum." I lie. of course I wasn't listening.

"No you weren't, I know my own boy." She sighs from the drivers seat.

She clears her throat. "Anyways, I was saying I never told you to slow down because you had to make your own shoes."

"What?" I scratch my head. "What are you talking about?"

"The lyrics to this song you sang, this nineteen to athousand song." She clarifies. "It says I told you to slow down, you must make your own shoes. I never said that."

"Mum." I laugh. "Its just song lyrics, they don't mean anything."

"So? You could have said my mama said to slow down or I'll trip and fall and hit my head so my hair falls out again and this time it will grow back pink."

I do recall her telling me that once when I was twelve. Fun fact, I did end up running somewhere shortly after she'd told me this, only to trip and fall as she told me I would. But my hair didn't fall out again. I just skinned my knee and cried a little bit.. Only a little! I wasn't much of a brave child.

Hopping back to the subject, I quickly tire of my own voice and thumb the station changer switchy thing.

"What was that for?" Mum asks.

I shrug. "It feels conceded to listen to your own music."

"You don't ever listen to it?"

"Not usually." I say. "I mean it feels weird to listen to your own singing."

"Well your friends are in it too!" she argues. "That Murdoc, he does the guitar doesn't he?"

"Bass."

"Huh." she says. "does he have a partner?"

This question takes me for shock, and sends a bit of a jolt to my brain. Especially the use of the word "partner"

"No. Why?"

"I Dunno." she says. "He's handsome in a rugged way. Allot of people find that nice."

People? Partner? Not girlfriend, or women? Is she getting at something, i wonder?

"I guess so." I yawn. Its pretty dang early. "He's not really a relationship type guy, just.. once night stands." Or mates with benefits.. I don't think I'll add that part.

My tired eyes roll their vision out the window. The mornings sun peeks its way up to greet the people that are actually awake.. Like young musicians with blue hair, who's mothers drag them out to tea cafes' at eight in the morning. Eight might not be very early, but I'm still tired as all hell.

I take in my hand, a thermos of black, hot, shitty coffee.

"Thought so." she says, adding on to the conversation from a moment ago as I take a long drink.

"You know, a couple nights ago, when you were off walking before going to band practice in the Winnebago.." She says quietly, as if she's gossiping at a sketchy hair salon. My mouth takes in a stream of coffee as she begins her little story.

"I heard him with a women in his Winnebago. She was all up in noises and moans, going "say my name!..she was a girl named stura, I think.. at least that's what he answered with.."

The coffee in my throat stops, as does my heart. And it goes back up my throat, and sprays itself all over the dash. Not my heart, the coffee.

"Stuart! Are you alright, did you choke?"

"I'm fine." I say nervously, beginning an explanation. "Just er.. coughed a little bit."

"Stura.." I begin. "Stura, I think is his... mate with benefit?"

Oh shit, I shouldn't have given her that much.

"Forget that, clean up the dashboard." she sighs, tossing me a clump of napkins. Mind still set on what she's just told me, I begin to rub down the splattered coffee. And like in any stressful situation, my brain begins to throb.

"When is the doctor going to tell me if I can have my pills back?"

"Thursday."

"The day I leave? Will I be there for that?" I ask

"Well I'd assume you'd stay until he told you, yes." she says with a grain of sass in her voice, and a click in her tongue. I hate it when she uses that voice.

I nod, and turn the music up with a coffee-wet thumb. She makes another tongue click and turns the music down.

"I'd like to talk to you, you know.."

"Alright." I say. "About what?"

"Something's bothering you." Oh i should have known she was going for this. "And I mean besides the lack of pills."

"Nope, I'm fine.. Been fine." I say nervously.

"Why don't you tell me anything?" she complains sadly. "I remember when this family had NO secrets What happened? Wheres my little boy?"

"Sitting next to you, in your car." I say. "He's just not little anymore."

She sighs, and an uncomfortable silence joins us in the car. I love my mum, I really really do! You cant sit inside a woman for nine months and not respect her. Okay that was a little gross..

Its just that she expects me to spill everything to her like I'm a twelve year old girl. And no matter how much I'd love to tell her about this confusion that's came to me in the last month or so.. I cant. I just cant.

"Do you remember the beach?" she asks, mentally hitting the silence with a hammer. She always brings up going to the beach when things upset us.

"When we used to go to the beach?" she asks.

I nod. "Yeah, I do."

"I remember." she says warmly. "Mostly when you were just a boy. And i mean young, like no more than a year old."

Though I've heard this over fifty times, I just keep listening like a good son does.

"You loved the water back than." she laughs. "Back than, there was no fear of whales."

I shutter on the word whale.

"Me and David would hold your little hands as you stumbled around the surf... Your little legs.." She reminisces. "Your little ears, Little feet.. little willy-"

"Mum!"

"Oh hush up, I'm your mother Stuart. I've seen it before." She laughs.

"You were just so tiny.. Now your so tall. How did that happen?"

"Steroids."

"Stuart!"

"Mum I'm joking!" I laugh. "And I swear.. Theres nothing I'm not telling you. I'm perfectly fine."

That hurts, Having to lie like that. Everyone lies to their parents, sure! Like you passed a math test, or your not smoking cigarettes behind the school with troubled teenagers.. But it doesn't really come up allot that you have you have to lie to them about having a gay affair with your friend.

"You'd better be okay." she says. "Other wise, I'm driving straight back to that gorilla studio and tieing you to the roof of this car."

"I know you will."

"I'm serious Stuart!" she says. "If I find out someone's making you unhappy, their arse is grass, and I'm the lawn mower."

I turn my head to her and cock it. "Did you really just say that?

"I heard Ricky Gervaise say it." she shrugs. "I like Ricky Gervaise."

Oh mum. Mum and her Ricky Gervaise.

Thursday:

Popsicle juice running down my wrists, and eyes stabbing the television, the last day of my visit arrives, and I just sit like its nothing. It really is nothing though.. I mean I grew up here, spent most my life on this couch, and the ones we've had before it. So what's leaving AGAIN? Nothing. That's what.

And another bead of popsicle sweat bleeds onto my shirt. Gah, I hate popsicles.. Actually, no. I love popsicles. Just hate eating them, because I cant do it without becoming a mess afterwards. Not emotionally though, I mean my shirt is a mess. Another reason that I hate eating them though, is because its so awkward. I mean besides the fact of what it LOOKS like, people stare at you and giggle. Oh look, Stuart looks like he's sucking a dick! Bah.

So I steal a quick glance around the room, to make sure no ones watching. Mum's getting home in a couple hours, and Dad's still working on a whirligig machine that tends to fly peoples shoes away from their feet. As for Murdoc? I think he went off for a shower. So I should be good.. With one last look around the area, I stick it back in my mouth. The popsicle, I mean.

"Hey look Stuart's sucking a dick." Just as I thought. With dripping black hair, Murdoc enters the front door, with all the makings of being out of the shower, but thankfully he's clothed.. Or unfortunately? Heheh.

"Wanker." I mutter, popsicle deep into my mouth.

"Exactly."

"No, YOUR the wanker." I talk back. "Not my popsicle."

"Strange." He says, gripping the back of the couch where I sit, and staring into the TV.

"What?"

"Damon told you no more popsicles, Idiot. Bad for your voice."

"Nuh uh!" I argue. "Sucking on things is good for your voice, I read it in an article in Record Collector."

"Urban legend." He hisses. "Also, that's what she said. Hah."

"What's what she said?"

"Sucking on things is good for your voice." He repeats me. "Now give it up, come on."

He gestures for my popsicle, and i jerk away.

"No way! Why?"

"Your voice coach said no, now give it here!"

"Since when do you follow orders?" I ask.

"Since they stopped the singer of my band from losing his fucking voice. Also, I'm NOT following orders, since its MY OWN order. Now give it up!"

I shake my head, and scoot away from him once more. "I don't wanna!"

With a final, short shrug, he swoops his hand down and snatches my cherry frozen deliciousness away like a falcon, only to walk casually away.

"Hey!" I shout, jumping up from my spot on the couch. "Give it the fuck back!" I'm not really angry.. I just think its best if he thinks i am.

"Nah."

"Come on!" I whine. "I'm hungry!"

"eat a biscuit or something." He says.

"I don't want a biscuit I want my popsicle!" I argue. "Come on, that was the last one!"

"Go buy more!.." he says.

"and than don't eat them." He adds, snickering.

"screw you." I huff, giving up and returning to my spot on the couch. Still not angry.. just disappointed. I want my popsicle back.

Footsteps creep up behind me.

"Fine." He hisses. "You act like a baby, you'll eat like one."

Before I have time to see what's on TV, or just look behind me to seek my doom, Murdoc hops over onto me, kneeing me straight in the balls, and diving the popsicle down my throat.

"Hows your popsicle NOW?"

"chhghhuh chhguh." A choking noise is all I'm able to squeeze out. I am afterall, choking.

"hows THAT?"

In and out the popsicle goes, rather..sensually. Oh god, I see what he's doing here. How did I not get this at first? Training me is he? Well TWO can play at that game.. Wait.. no I cant. Not in this condition at least.

I back away, and somehow tumble off the back of the couch. Popsicle still hanging out my mouth... I don't think I wanna eat popsicles again for a while.

"That'll teach you." He sighs, walking off.

"where are YOU going?" I ask.

"Sea world." He says, rather sassily.

"Really?" I ask. "Don't go there, there are whales there.."

"Were you originally BLONDE?" He groans.

"No." I shake my head. "Brunette, why?"

With a fed up huff of breath, he walks out the front door, signaling this conversation is done. Which is probably a good thing, because with the way things were going a moment ago, we were likely to do something. In fact, he's probably angry because I resisted.. but in truth.. I really didn't want to.

So accepting the fact that I probably just missed out on something, I sit myself on the couch and resume watching whatever the hell this is on the television.

The front door flutters open, and I half expect it to be Murdoc, except for the fact that it opened softly, and not rough and Slammy.

"Hello Hon."

Yeah, that doesn't sound much like Murdoc. Its Mum. And I wonder what she would have done if she walked in not three minutes ago.

"Hi. Your home early." I greet her from the couch.

"I have to go back once your gone." she sighs. "I wanted to see you off. Got all your clothes packed than?"

"Yup." Right than, a sting hits my brain.

"Did the doctor call yet?"

"No. why don't you-"

"He said he would call today!" I whine.

"He will." she says. "I was going to tell you to watch the phone."

she hands me the home phone, and i take it carefully as if it holds everything in my future. It kind of does though.. It really does..

...

My eye shuts for a moment. That feels like its been the first blink in the twenty three minutes I've been eyeing the phone.

*bbring* *bbring*

"Hello?" I basically throw the phone to my ear. "Doctor Mullgle?"

"No silly!" a woman's voice chuckles deeply. "Its Maddy!"

"who?" I sigh. Dammit.

"Madden!" strange.. I've never called you that in my life, and as I recall I don't really like you, do I?

"Oh." A drop of disappointment fills my voice. "Yeah, Hey."

"How are ya?"

"Listen.. Madden," I say. "I don't mean to be a brute, but I'm waiting for a call."

"That's okay!" she says. "You can miss it, they'll call back."

"No, I really-"

"Are you sure the other night was a dream?"

A nervous sickness hits my stomach, as a chill crawls up my stomach.

"What?" Yeah, it was just a dream." I say shakily.

"Are you sure?" she asks. "It really didn't seem like one. I mean, 2D if your gay you can tell me."

"I'm not!" I say. "I- I like girls.." But even still my own head thinks against my words.

Are you sure about that?

Shut up myself. I think. I'm not a fag.

Oh you aren't?

"Stuart?" Maddens voice breaks my stupid imagination. "Are you there?"

"Yeah." I cough. "Yeah, I'm here."

"I was asking.." she says. "If you're COMPLETELY sure that was a dream?"

"Yes madden." I sigh. "Listen I'm sorry. I have to go. Bye." The off button is thumbed, and I almost feel bad for hanging up on her. Wait.. no I don't, she almost told the world I'm gay! But.. I'm NOT gay! Fuck.. I don't even know.

*Bbring Bbring!*

If this is the doctor, I'm going to be a happy Stuart.

"Doctor Mullgle?" I ask semi- Exitedly.

"Nope. Madden again."

"Oh." I sigh. "Yeah?"

"Are you SURELY SURE that was just a dream?"

"Yes, it was a dream!" I say angstily. "A dream, it was a damn dream. I have to go. Sorry bye."

Once again, I thumb the off button, and the crackling of a partly broken phone is no more. Sinking into the couch, I toss the phone beside me. Well, a little bit more television cant hurt can it? Eh, it probably can, but who cares? Not-

*BBRING, BBRING!*

Oh that's IT. I quickly pick the phone up and thumb the on button.

"Madden!" I shout. "I told you, it was a dream I'm not gay!"

"Eh, is this Stuart Pot?" Oh shit its doctor Mullgle.

"Oh, sorry doctor." I say awkwardly, twiddling a peice of hair in my fingers. "I thought you were someone else.

"I see that.. I was calling about the results of your pill prescription?"

"Oh?" I ask. "Great. Err.. what are they?"

"Well." He sighs. "The rest of the board think it would be healthy for you to redeem them."

Now honestly, I didn't understand a word of that.

"Uh.. So that means that.."

"Your pills will be represcribed to you."

That one sentence right there, pulls the knife out of my back

"Really?" I ask quietly.

"Yes." He says. "You should have the prescription back, and able to pick up by next week."

Thank fucking god.. that's all I can think. I'm going to be Okay..

"Thank you." I say.

"Will that be all, or is there anything else you'd like to know?"

I shake my head, though he's unable to see. "No thank you."

"Alright than. Bye Stuart."

"Bye." I hang up, and gently set the phone down, letting out a little laugh. Because why? Because I'm going to be okay. I'm going to be-

"Have you seen my glasses?" Mum casually walks in through the back door.

"Nope. Check your nightstand?"

"Oh. No. Did the doctor call yet?"

"He did, yeah."

"What'd he say?"

"I'm not getting them back." A lie trips off my tongue and falls out my mouth. I think maybe its better if she thinks I'm not getting them back.

"I see." she says. She's relived I can tell. Its probably a good thing that I lied.

I let out my best sad sigh ( a fake one) and hang my head low.

"Oh honey." she sighs, coming over to sit by me on the couch. "This is for your own good."

"Yeah, I guess.."

Her warm hand lands on my knee like a small bird. "I just.." she stutters. "I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you.. If you overdosed or something."

"I know, mum."

"Your.." she says. "Your my little boy, Our little boy. I know David's busy, and he's not around too much, but he loves you so much.

"Yeah, I love him too." I say.

"And.." she says. "Your sure something's not wrong? Besides the pills?"

Oh here we are again. "Nope."

"Like, with a lover or something?'

"Really." I comfort her "I'm fine. Don't worry about me.. Me and Murdoc-"

"What about you guys?" she asks. That didn't sound too good.

A slow moment drips by, before I clear up the situation with what I was ACTUALLY going to say.

"I was going to say, Me and Murdoc are gonna go back to the studio, to where Russ and Noodle are. And were gonna get this new album pieced together, and we'll be big again.. and everything'l be okay."

Everything will be okay. Those are the words I want to stick to her. Glue to her, so she stops worrying so much. So I repeat it.

"Everything will be okay." But even than, as she nods, and we just sit there.. Its hard to lie when you cant even convince yourself that its true. When you know it isn't..

I once heard someone say early starts are for people who run away from things. So that's exactly what we did. I kissed my parents goodbye, and me and Murdoc loaded up the Winnebago and left without a word to each other until we were about halfway back to Kong.

"Madden called yesterday." I mutter. "Twice."

"Fuck, what'd she want?"

"she keeps asking if it was really a dream." I sigh. "I mean, Muds we got off lucky, but now our lucks running out, mate. D'you think she really believes it?"

"She believed it." He says. "That dumb broad believed it, they always do."

I start to wonder what Murdoc has against women. I mean he loves them, that's for sure.. but not in the way he's supposed to. He'll take them for a test drive, and than just drive them right back to the car lot. Err.. that was a metaphor for, Murdoc's a man whore and he only does one night stands.. But what is this sort of relationship we've got here?

"Why do you hate women?" I ask. Slip of the tongue, right there.

"I don't hate women." He says. "I fucking love women. They're just stupid idiots, is all."

"That makes no sense."

"You make no sense."

I think I'll leave that there.. Murdoc fucking loves women, he just think's their stupid idiots is all.. But what does he think of noodle? I mean, he's got to love her in at least like a fatherly, or brotherly way. I know I do.

The thought of Noodle takes me back to the topic of the new album, and the progress we have on it. None. None at all. I mean shit, what kind of band are we? We spend our time nearly killing each other, watching movies, fighting off zombies... and the other some of us.. well.. we spend our time doing things the other band mates might just frown upon. Or maybe not?

"Traffic." Murdoc growls. "Fuck it. What a day for a demon."

"A day in the life of a demon." I sigh.

"Demon days." He sighs back.. And something in my head tells me we might need those last words later.

**NOTE: And.. thus! Tada, haha! See what I did there? Thanks for reading, and please review and tell me what you think! **


	18. 18:Understanding

**Chapter 18: Understanding (REVIEWERS VOTE!)**

**Another Reviewer vote at the end of this! And please, it would be great if you guys would do that, cause I can't start the new chapter till I get enough votes. Have fun! :D**

**Some Time Later:**

As the new album progressed, so did the stains on my Bed sheets, them differing between being mine and Murdoc's. Gross I know, but that was supposed to indicate that this "mates with benefits" thing, had been going on full force since we'd gotten back to Kong from my parents house.

I mean, I thought that we might have given up on it because of Russ and Noodle being there, but there are a lot of places to hide in Kong.. And I mean a lot.

But the new album? I don't think it could have been more successful! Writing the songs though, those created a number of sleepless nights. Songs aren't easy to right, you know. But somehow, me and Murdoc managed to pump out some tunes.. Well.. We'd pumped out more than that.

Demon Days. Released no more than a month ago, Feel Good Inc. Has been mowing over the charts like nothing we've ever written. That was a pure stroke of genius. Mine and Murdoc's minds do work well together.

Well.. With music maybe, but not with.. Other things. I mean its been months since this "mates with benefits" thing started up, and I still open my eyes in the morning to find myself alone. That morning in the Winnebago, a while ago.. That was something different, something new. Something that's sure never to happen again, no matter how much it should.

"Damn." Russ Russ mutters, head deep in the fridge. "We aint got nothing to cook in here."

I pull my face out of a scotch puddle on the counter. Im suddenly aware of how hung-over I am.

"Huh?" I yawn. "I think.. It went away."

"No SHIT it went away." He laughs. "Damn what's the matter D, can't hold a drink?"

"I did... Didn't I?" I laugh. "I just need to like.. Walk it off or something, go for a drive.. I dunno.

"Oh hey, if your going out, you want pick up some groceries man? I mean there's like No food here."

"yeah, I guess so." I agree. "What do we need?"

"A little bit of everything." He says. "..Or A lot of everything. I'm starving!"

I nodded, though I'd rather have just crawled back in bed than drive somewhere, but we really do need food.. But I'll need to grab something before I go.

Back in my room, My hand carelessly fumbles around for a shoebox, and out I pull a brown sneaker box. But I wont find shoes inside..

Out of the box, I grab a small bottle of pills and jam them in my jacket pocket, hoping no one decides to go digging in there for no reason.

Keeping my pills secretive hasn't been easy. Hell, I don't even like keeping it a secret! But it's for the best.. I told Murdoc a while back that the doctor made me kick em, and I told the same to Noodle, Russ, and numerous Paparazzi. They all believed it quite well, I think, I'd rather it stays that way.

So I've finally got a car, than! Picked it up at a used lot a few months before Demon Days was released, so as you can imagine, (not having loads of cash back than) it's kind of a piece of crap. Rover 800, engine that sounds like a coughing old man, some faded white color, and.. Well it looks like its been in a damn lion cage (that means it has a lot of scratches, if you didn't get that.)

And you may be wondering, you guys have money, why are you driving a piece of shit vehicle? And hey, I've wondered that too, but according to Murdoc, that would be a waste of money on a waste of space.. I can't tell if I'm supposed to be the waste of space, or the new car.

I hop into my Piece-of-shit car, buckle in, and turn the keys. The old man of an engine starts to cough, and that means the car is actually gonna work this time, as strange as it sounds. Now than.. Lets see if I can get out of the parking garage without ramming the door again, shall we?

Light up signs are for casino's and strip clubs.. That's why I don't understand this grocery store.

Shop-Shop City It reads in big hazy white lights. Ha, white light.. Get it?

But weird sign or not, I get out the car and make my way to the front.. Where Ofcourse-

"Holy shit, its that one kid from the Clint Eastwood thing." A voice states.

"You idiot, that's 2D from gorillaz." another one corrects the other. That honestly feels pretty cool, to be recognized. I mean before Gorillaz, the only time I got recognized was when people told me they'd seen me on the eight o'clock news. The boy who got hit in the head by a car.. And lived!

"Excuse me, sir!" A guy who looks about sixteen or seventeen with curly red hair, and a clipboard makes his way over to me.

"Oh.. Hello." I say awkwardly.

"Would you like to sign our petition to fight against the bull scouts discriminating gays?"

I cock my head. "The bull scouts are discriminating against gays?"

The guy nods. " Homosexual boys and teenagers wont be aloud to join in a couple months. Its sickening."

I was a bull scout for a few weeks in fourth grade, if I remember right. I quit after a few weeks because they kept calling me crackpot. I don't even know why.

"So would you like to sign?"

I mean.. I've never had anything against gay people.. And seeing as the current situation I'm in..

"Yeah, alright." I nod, and he hands me over the clipboard.

Stuart H. Pot, I sign. Funny, I almost wrote 2d, because I'm used to autographing things.

"Thank you sir!" The guy walks off with his pen and clipboard, luring in another woman She ignores him, and walk right inside the store.

"faggot." she mutters. Well, what a very nice lady she is.

I must be half way around the store, when I realize I haven't got Kong's food card with me. Damn. I'll have to go get it. Straying away from the beloved cereal isle, I take myself outside the front doors, where something else seems to be going on.

"Fruity boy want a signature? Fuck that." Hovering over the same signature boy from before, is a beefy kid that looks much older than him. Over eighteen for sure, probably college or something.

"Darin, just go away. Please." The signature guy pleads.

"What Lyle?" Darin teases. "I can't just hang out with my little faggot buddy?"

"I-I don't want any trouble." Lyle, I guess that's his name, stutters.

"Oh shut the fuck up junior homo."

I don't think I can take much more of this.

I slowly walk over. "Hey man, just leave him alone, alright?"

"Who asked you? Get the fuck out of here." Darin, the arsehole says.

"Just leave him alone you dick, he didn't do anything to you!"

"Its not what he's doing to me.." He gestures to himself. "Its what he's doing to the WORLD. His kind don't belong here."

"Oh, and who said that?" I ask.

"No one, its a fact of life."

"A fact of life.." I say, my veins filling up with anger. "Is that your a wanker who picks on people half your fucking size to get a kick out of things, so why don't you take your sorry arse back to campus where you belong?"

Shit.. I really shouldn't have said that. His face turns an ugly shade of maroon, as he lunges his meaty fist into my stomach.. And doesn't miss. After a second, I build up a bit of strength through anger and lob one back into his nose. I may not be that built, but I have bony hands. He grabs his nose as it begins to trickle a color of red that matches the color of his pissed off face.

"Oh your dead, pretty boy." He hisses.

And I probably am. I'm such a dead Stuart..

Toss, toss, toss the cards go, one from each of the huge, scarred men around me, landing into a nice little pile, until I call something out.

"Bull shit." I say.

Carrell, a large Latino man with a shiny, bald head groans. "Ah shit man, you got me."

He takes the pile, into his own deck of cards, and Jameson, a long haired homeless man with a pair of aviators grins with teethe as yellow as the center of a daisy. That's a nice thing to compare them too, I think.

"You ever won this game once in your life, Carrell?" Jameson pokes a t Carrell.

"Fuck you man." Carrell shakes his head, as the rest of the jail cell laughs... Oh, did I forget to mention I'm in a jail cell? And that wanker I got in a fight with is in the next one over, and as it sounds, his cell docent like him very much.

Now I'm supposed to be out tomorrow, unless someone comes to pick me up, and I'm wondering if that's even going to happen. Apparently, fighting in front of a grocery store doesn't go un-noticed.

"So oy, blue head." says Kobe, a skinny pale guy with a blonde buzzcut and questioning eyes.

"Yeah?" I ask.

"You, bein an innocent music guy and all.." Him, and a few others actually knew who I was. "How'd you end up here?"

"I got in a fight with that dickhead in the other cell." I gesture the cell before us, where Darin sits picking his nails, and eyeing me down.

"Who'd wanna pick a fight with you?" Carrell scratches his head. "Like in a brotherly way man, your fucking adorable."

Jameson and Kobe nod.

"Who'd this fight happen in the first place?" Jameson asks.

"He was protecting a faggot." Darin calls, from across the way. An officer tells him to quiet down. He doesn't.

"Why were you protecting a faggot, huh?" Darin continues.

I ignore him and nod to the others. "Actually yeah, that was pretty much it. Expecting the worst from them, I quiet down.

Kobe shakes his head. "My brothers gay.. I love my brother."

"What a fucking low life." Carrell hisses. "Peoples business is their own."

They look to Jameson, as if expecting him to say something.

"Huh?" He mumbles. "I like women, but I don't really give two shits who anyone else likes."

"True man, true." Carrell nods. "Love is love, and when it's real, it don't matter if its between a man and a woman, because It's Real.. And real love is fucking hard to find in this world."

"I got a girl.." He continues. "Well, she's gonna be my wife.. I was gonna propose. That's how I got here man. I'm so fucking underpaid, I was just taking a little extra from the register.. And here I am.. I just wanted her to be happy. I love it when she's happy.."

"I had a girl." Kobe says. "She was the only reason I woke up in the morning, and the only reason I went to bed at night.. Than one day Something happened.."

"What?" We all look at him in anticipation.

"She wasn't my girlfriend anymore...she Became the mother of my child." he laughs.

And apparently, this had became story time, because now Jameson's got something.

"I aint never been in love." He shrugs. "But the only time I ever seen true love, it was between two woman.. It was a porno."

We all laugh, as the card game goes on.. I look up from my card pile to find everyone watching me, waiting.

"Huh?" I ask.

"You got someone, Bluey?" Kobe asks.

I shrug and shake my head. "Naw."

"Come on man, your fucking famous." Carrell groans. "You gotta have someone."

I do.. And I know that. But no one else needs too.

"Not really." I laugh.

"Don't lie." Kobe says. "I got special eyes. I can see into you man, and your lying."

"Her names.. Muranda." A half lie, slips out my mouth.

"And?"

"And.." I sigh. "She only wants to be mates with benefits."

"Harsh." Jameson shakes his head. "Welcome to the friendzone, population: You."

"You love her?" Carrell asks.

I shrug. "I don't even know.. I feel like I do, but than I tell myself that I shouldn't."

Kobe shakes his head and sighs. "You gotta tell her. Otherwise its just gonna sit inside you and rot.. And she'll find someone else, and you'll tell yourself everyday how much of an idiot you are for letting her slip away from you."

"Yeah man, that's it!" Carrell laughs. "Your a gorilla aren't you? And Gorillas mate for life.. The animal, I mean."

"Oh yeah I saw that on the discovery channel." Jameson says. "They find one other gorilla, and they stay with them for the rest of they're smelly lives."

"Stuart Pot?" A short squat police man with a caterpillar shaped moustache above his lip appears at the entrance of the cell.

"Yeah, that's me." I say.

"You're on bail."

"Someone's here to get me?"

"Yes, get up, I haven't got all day." He taps his foot.

I sit up and the other guys wave me off.

"Remember, Tell her how you feel!" Carrell shouts, as I walk off. "Because gorillas mate for life!"

Yeah gorillas may mate for life, but.. Gorillaz don't.

As I stare at the man leading me out, I wonder why this guy wanted to be a a cop. I mean what made him decide to wanna be a cop? I wonder if-

"Your belongings when you got here include-" A man at a clear window interrupts me.

"One bottle of prescription head medication, one pack of nicotine cigarettes, twenty pence, and a paperclip." He hands me my belongings, and I take them out, putting them all in different pockets.

"Do you know who bailed me?" I ask the cop.

"I'm not authorized to tell you." Oh well, screw you mister police guy.

He leads me over to a heavy, metal door and flags me through.

"Your free to go."

I open the door, and who else would be sitting, arms folded in a waiting chair, but an angry Satanist. Murdoc Baled me out. He'l get a kick out of this.

"Hey muds." I greet him casually. "You'all never guess-"

"Shut the fuck up." He mutters, standing up and grabbing me by the hood of my jacket.

"We're leaving NOW." We leave the police department (or rather he drags me out)

I break free of him in the parking lot.

"Let me go!" I shout. "Jesus, what's your problem?"

"YOUR A FUCKING IDIOT!" He yells. "WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?"

I didn't think he'd be mad.. I thought he'd almost be proud.

"what's the problem?" I ask. "You've gotten arrested before-"

"BECAUSE I'M MURDOC FUCKING NICCALS." He booms. "YOUR 2D, AND YOUR SUPPOSED TO BE ALL SWEET AND ADORABLE, THE RECORD LABEL IS PISSED."

Shit.. I never thought of that before.

"Umm.." I gulp. "Oh."

"Yeah, oh." He mutters. "You've ruined everything."

I stop in my tracks. "I haven't ruined it, what are you talking about?"

"they. Nearly. ."

"but.." I chuckle. "They did'nt."

"You think this is FUNNY?" he hisses. "THAT YOU'RE RUINING EVERYTHING?"

"Fuck it." I mutter. "Lets just go."

I take a few steps toward his car, when something falls out of my unzipped jacket pocket. A small white bottle, falls almost in slow motion to the ground, where it rolls around for a moment before coming to a stop.

Murdoc looks down at it, with wide eyes. "2D..What the hell is that."

"n-nothing." I pick it up and jam it back into my pocket. Before I can act, he quickly reaches into my pocket and pulls out the bottle.

"Give it back!' I shout. "they.. They're not mine!"

He pushes me away as I grab for them. He slowly looks at the bottle.

"Prescription Vikodin." He mutters, and turns his head up to me. "You said you were off these."

"I- I am!" I stutter. "They're not mine, I told you.."

"Don't. Fucking. Lie." He says through clenched teethe. "Are these your pills."

"No!"

"ARE THESE.. YOUR..FUCKING..PILLS."

And its up. Been torn out from under the table.

"I need them." I sigh. "You don't understand, you just don't."

"why did you tell me you were off these."

"I.. I..." I stutter.

"WHY THE HELL DID YOU TELL ME YOU WERE OFF THESE?"

His eyes pin to mine, as the wind begins to cool my skin. "I.. I don't know! I didn't want anyone to worry, no one will leave me alone about it!"

"Your. ."

"NO IM NOT!" I shout, surprising myself.

"YOUR KILLING YOURSELF."

"STOP SAYING THAT!" I yell. "STOP FUCKING SAYING THAT! GIVE THEM BACK!"

"No." He stuffs them in his pocket.

"Please.." I say. "I need them, you don't understand."

"I ALREADY TOLD YOU, YOU DON'T NEED THEM."

"YES, I DO." I say. "You can say that all I need is my zombie movies, and keyboards or whatever.. But I can't sing without them, I can't live without them!"

"Yes you can! You don't need the damn pills!"

"YOU DON'T KNOW THAT. I shake. "Please.. Give them back."

And every inch of me begins to shake, as the possibility that my pills will be gone, reaches me. And I need them.. I need them more than anything right now..

**REVIEWER VOTE: Another vote! Review which option you want.**

**A: Murdoc Gives 2D his pills back.**

**B: Murdoc dosn't give 2D his pills back.**

**POST YOUR CHOICE IN THE REVIEWS :) **

**Ps. I cant continue till I get enough votes :P so it would be SUPER awesome if you guys could :)**

**Thanks**


	19. 19: Love & Sativa

**Chapter 19: Love & Sativah**

**YET ANOTHER REVIEWER VOTE AT THE END!**

**NOTE: Thank you all for your votes! I used some of your ideas too :) (some including unicorns, wink wink) Also, there's some things I need to say: This story, as said in the description, is the relationship from VERY beginning, to VERY end (if there is an end, wink wink again), so it wont be ending for a while. Get ready for a long and bumpy ride, readers! :)**

The mixture of wind, fear, and sickness mix together to create an eerie chill down under my skin.

"Please." I shiver, as murdoc clutches the bottle tight in his evil hands. "Just.. Please give them back.. You don't understand-"

"No. YOU DON'T FUCKING UNDERSTAND." He shouts, over the wind. "WHY should I help you destroy yourself?"

I lower my head and shake it. "Since when do you care.."

"WE ALREADY TALKED ABOUT THIS."

"WHY THE HELL DO YOU CARE?"

"BECAUSE." He yells. "..Because I just fucking do..."

"That's why I'm about to do this." He mutters, walking quickly off toward the roadside.

"Do..Do what?" I ask, following along. "About to do what, Murdoc what are you doing?"

The hand holding my pills rises to the sky, and in less than the blink of an eye, they're gone.. Soaring off like a rogue star, into the road. And all I can do is watch as a white bottle in the middle of the road is flattened by a heavy semi. And they're gone.

"You..." I murmur. "you.. YOU FUCKING DICK, I CAN'T GET MY PRESCRIPTION FILLED TILL NEXT MONTH!"

"And you wont be than either." He scoffs. "Not on my fucking watch. Lets go."

But I need them Now. The headache is already seeping into my head, like there's cracks in my skull, absorbing the situation. I need them Now..Now.. And there's a small chance there's still a few left, uncrushed in that bottle. I need to get to it.

Murdoc turns back around. "Well come on you twit, lets go."

I can get to that bottle. And I will.

My feet seem to hover as I sprint from the parking lot, for the road. I look down at my feet, pattering the pavement. I'm going pretty fast.

"what the hell- YOU FUCKING CLOT, GET YOUR ARSE BACK OVER HERE!" The sound of his feet joins mine. Shit shit, come on I can do this. I'm on the sidewalk now, I can get there! The road is clear now.. I just have to-

POUNCE

My feet loose balance as one of his feet dicks in front of mine. I tumble to the ground in a near somersault, adding a few new scratches to my already mucked up appearance from earlier's fight. Maybe I can just get up- His foot settles on my back.

"YOU TOSSER, LET ME UP!" I squirm around on my stomach, but its no use. Chin and stomach to the ground, I'm immobile.

"Are you.. Trying to get yourself killed?" He pants. I've tired him out.

"No-"

"YOU FUCKING GIT, WHAT ARE YOU DOING, JUST RUNNING INTO THE ROAD? YOUR GONNA GET HIT BY A CAR!" His stepping on my back heavies, pressuring my back.

"Muds-"

"WHAT, WHAT IN THE BLAZES IS IT?"

"Your hurting me!" I cough. "Lay off!"

Panting, his foot slowly lifts from me. I sit up, and hold my back. Jesus, he just had to fucking squish me. In the corner of my eyes, the bottle seems to glow.. I need it.

I quickly make a get up for it, pretty much crawling for it. I'm not even on my feet. He grips my wrist, and pulls me up.. I was so close..

He yanks me to his shiny red camero (he gets nice cars, I don't), and opens up the passenger seat, tossing me carelessly in. The door slams, and I've just now realized how much I'm freaking out. Everything seems to move, and grow warmer.. My head.. Oh my god, my head.. Is it.. On fire?

Everything squiggles around me as I shake.. And the colours.. They're different, like they don't exist in some way.. I need air, this car, its too hot. I think I'm melting oh Jesus, I need my pills.

The door slams open and closed, and Murdoc's entered the car. He starts it up, and the car seems to like.. Shake or something. Or maybe its just me.. Oh god I need to lye back. I lye back, and it seems I'm asleep for a moment or two.. Colours.. Colours everywhere, purple, blue, yellow, green.. Ugly green..

My eyes snap open from a sleep that's only lasted but a few minutes. My head jolts up, and the acid in my stomach decides it wants out..Now.

"Are you.. Okay?" Murdoc mutters.

"Pull over." I murmur. "Pull over now."

"what, why?"

"JUST PULL THIS FUCKING CAR OVER."

"No, I'm not letting you get out or any bull shit, again. You're not doing this right now-"

"I'M ABOUT TO PAINT YOUR CAR WITH THE INSIDES OF MY STOMACH, NOW PULL OVER."

Extremely loving to his car, but not so to me, he quickly pulls into the nearest area he can. An empty field of some sort of dying corn, or tall grass that stands ugly beneath a carmel sky. Essex has a lot of blank areas like this.

The car barley stops when I rip the door open and free the warm insides of my stomach to the green grass, that soon turns into some sort of technically mess. That grass is sure to die soon.

"Eugh." Murdoc groans. "What the hell, are you okay?"

Oh, so now he cares.

I take a break from my sickness to answer. "does it look like I'm..(blurg)..Okay?"

I return to emptying my stomach, and a fragile hand reaches my back, sort of patting awkwardly.

"Jesus, what's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with you.." His words sting my head as I finish up, and wipe off my mouth with the corner of my sleeve. What is wrong with me? And what will become of the band without me?

I buckle in, and without another word, Murdoc drives off.

But really.. Without my pills I can't sing.. And maybe I could get my prescription refilled.. But murdoc Knows know.. And he'l never let that happen.

My eyes drift out the window, and roll upon two blurs..Glittering white figures.. Horses? But they've got horns.. Fucking unicorns.. And they're.. On top of each other.. The usual kind of thing I see in withdrawal.

"Whoa." I mutter. "Fucking unicorns..fucking."

"What? Murdoc asks. "What the hell are you going on about?"

"Fucking Unicorns: Fucking!" I say back.

"WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU?"

"I DON'T KNOW, I WANT MY PILLS!" I shout. "I WOULDN'T BE SEEING THIS IF YOU HAD'NT THROWN THEM."

"seeing what?"

"FORNICATING UNICORNS." I shout, bringing my legs to the seat, and curling into a light ball.

"I'm fucked up." I murmur. "and I wouldn't be if you'd left me alone with my pills."

"You're shaking." He says. "Like.. A lot."

I look at myself, and realize that he's right. I'm quaking like.. Like.. Something that shakes a lot.

"I need them." I sigh. "I need them, I need them."

"Screw THIS." He abuses the wheel, and makes a complete change of direction, turning to the right.

"where are you going?" I ask. "This isn't the way to Kong!"

"Be quiet."

My palms press to my forehead. "Just take me home."

"I'll take you wherever the hell I wanna take you, so shut up and just.. jus- I DUNNO, BE QUIET OR SOMETHING."

"I wanna fucking go home!" I turn to him and raise my voice. "This could be considered theft you know."

"Theft of what?" He scoffs. "Who cares if you get stolen?"

I shake my head. "That hurts.. Murdoc your a dick."

"Yours truly."

I cross my arms, and turn my head away in an angry huff. "Well fuck you than."

"You already did."

I knew this would happen to the world someday. Inspector gadget was prone to try to murder me someday.. Oh wait, I'm dreaming. Phew, that's a relief.

I awake, and my neck sticks to the leather headrest. The thaxted windmill rolls past my vision.

"Is that the thaxted windmill.." I ask.

"Mhm." Murdoc mumbles.

"Thaxted.."I begin pissily. "Is like an hour away from Kong."

"No its not." he scoffs. "Forty five minutes..at most!"

"Where..the hell..are we going?"

"simmer down." he says. "Were almost there, now shut your face."

But we weren't almost there, because its about twenty minutes later, and here he is, pulling up by some crappy old church overlooking a wide river.

"What do you want with a church?" I ask. "Wont you like.. Burn if you set foot in it?"

"Not if its been De-blessed. Which it has."

I'm not even about to ask what De-blessed is. So I wont.

"What are we doing here?" I sigh, still shaking.

He turns his head to me. "Jesus, look at you.. Your a fucking mess."

"Shut up." I hiss. "Its your fault.. I want my pills."

With a heavy sigh, he exits the car with a slam of the door, and begins to walk off to the lump of termite eaten wood, called an old church. He gestures for me to join. I shake my head.

"I'm not going in there."

He rolls his eyes, and prys open my door before I can lock it. Grabbing my shoulder, he drags me off my seat, and into the cold pre-night air.

"Don't touch me." I jerk free of his hand, and slam the door myself. Shrugging, he walks off and enters this half torn out door, into this barn-like church building that looks like the church from jeepers creepers.

When I don't follow, he sticks his head out. "Are you coming in or not?"

"Not."

He shrugs. "Suit yourself. There's water over there, you know." His finger points to a running creek-like river thing that sits over a dying valley.

"What about it?" I ask.

"Whales live in water."

"bull-shit." I hiss. "I'm not an idiot, whales don't live in rivers.. And don't even joke about that?"

"Oh yeah?" He cocks his head. "Than what's that?"

I turn my head over to the stream.. Nothings there.. What a dick-

*whale noises*

"FUCK-" I nearly tumble over. I turn around to see murdoc laughing his arse off, nearly on the ground.

"You idiot." He laughs. "what'd you think, I'm good at whale noises, eh?"

"Tosser." I mutter, making my way over to the door.

"Oh?" He says, as I enter the church and close the rotting door behind us.

"And what made you change your mind?"

"Its cold out there." I say, and cast my eyes around. Most of the pews are gone, and all that remains is a dirty rotten one, and another dirty rotten one in slightly better condition. I take a seat there, and curl myself up into a ball, holding my knees.

"Okay." I sigh. "Why are we here?"

Without much of a reply, he digs up a floorboard and begins to search around under it. He pulls up a plastic bag, with a green blur inside of it, and some little white papers.

"Did we really come here just so you could smoke a joint?" I ask.

"No." He shakes his head and takes a seat next to me. "We came here so YOU could smoke a joint."

"Why can't you just keep this stuff at Kong?" I ask.

"The ghost of Tommy chong's long lost uncle lives in my closet." He shrugs. "And he always took it when I wasn't looking, so I keep it here, along with some other useless stuff that isn't worth keeping at Kong."

"Yeah whatever, I don't want one." I hiss as he begins to roll up some green in a little white paper. "I want my pills."

"You worry too much."

"I wont be able to sing for this band anymore, and you think that's not worth worrying about? I ask. He dozens listen to me. Just keeps working on that joint.

"are you even-" But he doesn't let me finish, and instead, forcefully pops a little white stub, burning on the end; into my mouth, and holds me back. He pinches my nose with his fingers, so In a moment, I have no other choice but to breathe in a cloud of grey, phsycadelic smoke; Taking me back to highschool. He lets go of my nose, and pulls the stub away.

I'm alright at first, until out of my lungs, and up my throat comes a thick, stiffling cough.

"Good ol sativah." He sighs. "Usually does the trick to calm people down. Feel any different?"

"No." I shake my head and cross my arms, still pissed off.

"Well than." He sighs. "BOTTOMS UP!"

He forces it back into my mouth (the joint, I mean), and repeats the same action again, than asking me the same question; If i feel any different. I still answer with no, so of course he doesn't give up. After about two three white stubs, He asks it again.

"How about now?"

"Huh?" I laugh. "Yeah okay..What?"

"That should have done the trick." He says, with a pinch of justice in his voice. "How's your head?"

"Its on my shoulders." I shrug, letting out a chuckle. "Where else would it be?"

"Yup. I'm brilliant, Stuart."

"No." I shake my head, and poke him in the chest. "Your Murdoc, I'M Stuart.. No actually, I'm hungry.. You got any food?"

"Nope."

"Dammit!..I Was.. I was going to the store to get some.." I explain. "And than this..Big BEEFY GUY!.. He was like, bullying this little gay kid, so I tried..Tried to stop him, and I never got my food."

"That's why you got arrested?"

"Yeah!" I clasp my hands together. "That's why, now I remember!"

"You never forgot Stuart, your just incredibly stoned."

"No, I don't.. Like rocks. Do you?"

"I dunno."

"Oh." I yawn. "I'm tired.. And hungry."

"Alright." he shrugs. "My work here is done, lets go home."

"Noo!" I groan. "I wanna go sit by the water."

"what?"

"Come on!" I get up, and grab a hold of his arm. He pulls me places all the time, why can't I?

Out of the dark church, and into the setting light we go. The carmel sky begins to fade. I pull him to the edge of the river, and collapse myself down to a sit. He just stands there dumbfounded.

"Come on!" I laugh. "Sit."

"2D, I'm not going to-"

"Don't call me that!" I groan. "I like it when you call me Stuart. It sounds nice."

"Err..."

"Just sit down you clot." He shrugs, and takes a weary seat next to me on a patch of grass near the water. I look into the river, that seems to wave and wriggle more than usual. Its pretty..

"We should be going."

"No we shouldn't." I argue. "Its nice here,I- I like it here."

"Yeah.. But.."

"Murdoc?" I ask, changing the subject.

"What?"

"I may be really stoned." I laugh, than changing my voice to a more serious note.

"But I want to know some things.."

"Sweet Satan-"

"Why me?" I ask. "With the mates with benefits thing.. Like, why not Russ?"

"I don't know." He sighs, picking up a stray rock and skipping it into the wriggling water, where it bounces a few times, before dieing into the blue.

"Yes you do." I mutter. "I know you do, and why not tell me? I wont remember it tomorrow."

"Timing." He says. "I told you that before, like a year ago or what not, didn't I? We both needed something-"

"And we were both there at the right time.." I sigh, finishing his sentence. I remembered it perfectly. "I know I know.."

He turns to face me. "Than why'd you ask?"

I look back at him, and than turn my face back to the water. "Because I thought your answer might change..It didn't."

"Nor will it ever." I cringe at those words. That, what he just crushed me a little bit. Or a lot.

"You've never been in love, have you?" I ask.

He shakes his head and stares blankly off into the distance.

"Love is a complication of sex, and I don't like complications."

I sigh, and secretly pack away my hopes, accepting the fact that they're too far off from reality. Off in space.

"I'm tired." I sigh.

"We'll go than." He attempts to get up. Surprising even myself, I tilt my head the left until it falls gracefully onto his shoulder.

"No." I say. "We'll stay.." And when I don't get a punch in the face, or kicked into the river, I'm honestly surprised. He just doesn't move. Stays in the same spot, looking off into nothing. I keep my head there, and begin to shut my eyes.

"Just.. A bit longer." I mutter, as my tired head carries me off into sleep, but leaving my body somewhere I want it to be. And the river rushes on.

My eyes aren't even open yet, but I know its night, because I can't feel sun on my eyelids anymore..

I'm not in grass anymore, but lying in the back seat of someones car. How'd I even get here?

I open my eyes, and cast around at my surroundings.. Its murdocs car. The one I almost threw up in. I peek up a little bit, to see murdoc driving, thank god. I thought I'd gotten kidnapped or something.. Should I let him know I'm awake? Naw.. I like the silence..

Eventually, I think I know where we are.. I think we've pulled into the garage. Murdoc parks, and gets out his door, coming around the back door, where he opens it up and nudges me.

I pretend to wake up, though I was already awake.

"Hey, wake up, we're here."

I stretch my arms, and get up from the seat, slowly and silently.

"what time did we leave the river?" I yawn, getting tiredly out of the car.

"We fell asleep for a few hours." He mutters. "I think its around two a.m."

"Oh.." I mutter. You mean I fell asleep ON you. That's what you meant..

"I'm sorry you had to bale me out." I apologize, as the elevator takes us in.

"Its weird hearing you say that." He laughs. "Your not the kind someone would have to bale out."

"YOU are, though..." The elevator door closes.

"I know I am." He laughs, than coughing awkwardly. "Hows your err..Head."

"Better." I say. "I think the sativah helped."

"It always does." The elevator ride seems long, awkward and tiring for some reason. I just want to bed.. But not in my bed. I've been looking down at my feet, but now I turn my eyes up at Murdoc to see him looking at me. He notices me, and turns his head. I don't.. I just keep my eyes on him, as he looks away. Slowly he turns his head back to see if I'm still looking. I am.

But instead of turning away once he catches my eyes, he just keeps looking. Our eyes are magnets to eachother, just staring and caught into eachother. Now we both know what's about to happen. Without a word, we crash into eachother, and he pushes me up against the elevator wall, pushing his mouth into mine. I breath heavily, as his tongue is the first to act, venturing into my mouth.

Ding!

The elevator door opens, and my heart stops. What if Russ and Noodle are outside of it? I detach my mouth from his, and look out to see that nobody's there.. Its just me, Murdoc and the air we breathe. Due to the lack of my mouth on his, he moves to my neck, and begins with the makings of a hickey.

"Don't." I laugh.

"why not?"

"Russ and noodle." I say. "They might see."

"They're sleeping, now shut up." He feisty continues.

I shrug, and do as he says. Eventually, we move to his bedroom, where I'm thrown carelessly, yet carefully onto his bed. I've grown to like this bed.. Its more comfortable than mine, that's for sure.

I may have been cold earlier, but that ofcourse has changed. We break for a moment, and I pull my shirt over my head. He assists in pulling it off, and throwing it somewhere. Than the same with his.. I hate giving in after he's been a dick all day (throwing my pills off) but.. God I love this. Every emotion in my body runs wild, and a mock, exploding in every part of me..Well, mostly my-

*Bring Bring*

Fuck.. I jolt up from this, to find that my phone is ringing in my back pocket.

"Ignore it." He grumbles, biting slowly at the edge of my neck.

"I will." I whisper, pulling my phone up.

Mum, the screen reads in blue glowy writing.

"Its my mum."

"Call her back later." He says, moving his lips to my shoulder.

I sigh and shake my head. "It could be important or something.. I gotta take this."

I thumb the answer button. "Hello?"

Meanwhile, Murdoc doesn't stop, and instead begins to suck harder.

"Hello hon..." She sounds upset.

"Err hey.."

"What's up?" she asks. Well, your kind of cockblocking me right now, mum.

"err.. Nothing much." sweat begins to dampen on my forehead, as his hand slides down from my stomach to my waste, and than under the belt.

"Wh- why'd you call?" I ask, as Murdoc begins to tease me with his hands, fondling and toying with my shaft.

"Well.. err.. I wanted to talk to you." she says nervously.

"This.. Isn't really a great time." I say, attempting to brush murdoc's hand away as the arousal builds up.

A sigh sounds from her end of the phone. "Stu, please.."

"Alright." I give in, and somehow remove Murdocs hand from the hard on in my pants. I gesture to him that I'll be right back. He rolls his eyes as I close the door. He's not happy about this.

I begin to stroll leisurely down the hall. "So what's up?"

"I just woke up." she says slowly. "And I had a feeling that something was wrong..With you."

"Oh." I gulp. "Well I'm fine."

"It's not about you being alright." she says. "There's something your not telling me.."

I don't answer to that. I don't think I can.

Slowly, she asks for the truth. "Is there something going on with Murdoc?"

Anxiety takes a slug into my brain. "wh- what do you mean?"

"I mean.. Are you gay?"

"Mum." I say. "You know I like girls.. I-"

"Stuart." she speaks slowly, and quietly. "You've lied to me a lot in the past year. I know this. But I don't want you to lie to me about this.. Is there something going on between you and Murdoc?"

Both another lie, and the truth sit on the edge of my tongue, deciding which one should come out.. And one pushes the other off.

**ANOTHER REVIEWER VOTE! These are fun to do, and I've gotten more requests for them, so I figured, why not?**

**Should 2d:**

**A. Tell his mother about Him and Murdoc.**

**B. Lie to his mother about Him and Murdoc.**

**REVIEW YOUR CHOICE, AND THANK YOU FOR VOTING ON THE LAST ONE TOO :)**


	20. 20:You There in The Mirror

**YET ANOTHER REVIEWER VOTE AT THE END!**  
**This vote was close :P And some of your Ideas I might be using later on :) Thanks for them guys! Enjoy :D This chapter will be shorter than usual but its a VERY important one.**C

**hapter 20: You there, In the Mirror **

Lying is my best friend. I've abandoned everything else, and put lying on top of anything else that matters. It has become my everything, something that I need. My best friend. And best friends are there for you when you need them.

"That's gross Mum." I say quietly. "We're just friends, and there's NOTHING else going on.. I swear."

I swear...

She speaks up in a hush tone. "Its okay if you are-"

"But I'm not!" I get louder, scaring myself. "Stop assuming things you don't know! Jesus..."

"I.. I just thought that-"

"Well its not true." I say. "Just.. Just stop it."

"Oh.. I'm sorry."

"Yeah, I gotta go." I sigh. "Bye."

"Sweetie, I love you." She says quietly. "No matter what, unconditionally." Her voice is a hammer that strikes at me.

Killing me.

"Love you too." I mumble, followed by a hang up. She wasn't even the one who hung up.

She knows.. I KNOW she knows. I can deny it, but I can't hide it from her. Somehow, she knows everything. I shamefully walk back to Murdoc's room, and open the door in front of me.

"Took you long enough." He grumbles, from the edge of the bed. I take a seat close to him, on the end of his bed.

"Sorry." I mumble, hanging my head.

"What'd she want?"

"I dunno." I sigh. "She's just starting problems."

"Well whatever." He says, pushing me onto my back, and unbuckling my belt. Before, this would have been exciting or what not.. But that talk has pretty much killed it all.

Tugging my pants down to my ankles, he manages to begin to lick the area around my neck sensually at the same time, before biting. I try to react.. But I don't. I just can't.

He notices this, and tries something else. Slipping his hands down into my now exposed drawers like he did when I was on the phone. Though it doesn't feel half bad, I still don't react. Not appreciative of this, He pulls his hand up, and pulls my shoulders up, so I'm sitting.

"What the fuck is your problem?" He asks. I shrug.

"I dunno.. I guess I just-"

"You know what?" He groans, and pushes me up from the bed. "Get outta' here and come back when your not a total killjoy."

I shake my head. "No, I'm fine! I can just-"

"Just go."

Half hesitant, I pull my pants on, and move off out of the room, leaving him alone.

Well fuck, now I've lost any chance of being happy for the night, AND I've got this Mum situation on my shoulders.

Halfway down the hall, I just now realize that my shirt is gone... And that even though the situation sucks, I've still got a raging hard on. Well, I can't go back now... I guess I'll just be off to take care of that in the bathroom.

"Toochi?" Noodles spunky little voice floats into my ears from behind me. I grab the nearest thing, a crudely painted flower vase, and move it to my groin to cover up... Things.

"Noodle?" I turn around to see her standing in her little polka-dotted bathrobe staring up at me with tired eyes.

"Who- what are you still doing up?" I ask.

"I should ask you."

"Can't sleep." I shrug. Another lie.

"I heard you haven't been behaving very well." She hardly laughs. Does she know I've been lying to my mother?

"Err..."

"Murdoc baled you out I see."

Oh, she's talking about me being arrested.. "Luckily, yes."

"The record company wasn't very happy.."

"It was for a good cause though." I say. "I saw a gay kid being bullied, so I tried to stand up for him.."

"Your face.." She tugs me down to her height, and feels around my face, touching the bruises and cuts from earlier's fight.

"I'd help you." She sighs. "But I need my sleep. With the tour coming up soon, we all do."

The tour... I'd almost forgotten about the tour. She pats my face before walking away. "Go clean yourself up."

I nod, and walk off. "Night Noodle."

"Goodnight."

And I finally make my way to the showers. My shirt is already off, thank you Murdoc, so I tug off my pants and underwear, tossing them carelessly to wherever they wish to land. The shower calls me in, and on the way in I catch a glimpse of myself in a cracked mirror. I step out, and greet the guy reflecting me with a frown. I am a revolting human being. Not only do I look like something out of a George Rommero masterpiece, but I'm a terrible person.

You there.. You in the mirror. You're a dick, you know that? All you ever do to your mother is lie. All she wants to do is help you, all she wants! And you crush her trust. You step on it like an ugly insect, when it's anything but that...

Your a stupid faggot, that's what you are. You can't even except that either... That you're in love with a man. Even those last few words you just thought to yourself, nearly killed you because you can't admit it to yourself. You would do anything for Murdoc, anything.. And you follow him like a lost dog. But he hates you. He hates you and you know it, and he knows it, and the rest of this fucking world knows it.

All he wants from you is sex. All he wants to be is mates with benefits, and barely even that because he doesn't even want to be your friend..But you love him.. You love him so fucking much, so much that it kills you inside. On the outside they love you, they think your gorgeous in a funny way. But on the inside you rot, and you rot, and you rot..

The shower offers sanctuary, and I happily take it. Stepping in, I realize I'm out of the mood for anything sexual. I just want to sleep. At the turn of a knob, water beads trickle from a metal head, and onto me, washing away the day. And I close my eyes, without even noticing.. Without even noticing, I close my eyes...

Is it raining? In the house? Where the hell am I?

My eyes jolt open, and tell me that I'm still in the safety of the shower.. But the water's gone cold.

Light joins me in the semi-dark shower cubicle as the door opens, spilling water onto the dry floor outside of the shower. I look up with squinty eyes to see none other than Murdoc. He looks down at me with a questioning look on his face.

"Get up." He says harshly. "GET THE FUCK UP."

"What?" I yawn, tilting my head to the side in hopes of falling back asleep.

"Oh, get the hell out." he growls, dragging me up by the arm, and throwing me out to the cold floor. I quickly grab a towel and drape it around my..err..private areas.

"What was that for?" I ask.

"I don't need a reason." He hisses. "I just don't like you."

"What's your problem?" I scoff, looking into him.

"Hmm.." He puts a finger to his chin. "Well, apparently I'm some form of disease ridden animal."

"What the hell are you talking about?" I ask, pulling on my underwear, then pants.  
A blurry grey object flies from his balled up fist, into the side of my cheek. It falls to the floor. My cellphone. I pick it up and rub my face.

"Ouch! What the fuck are you talking about."

"Your doctor called." he spits. "YOUR CLEAN. NO STD'S HERE."

Oh god.. The doctor must have called about my results for the STD check.. But its almost a year later, why were they so late?.. Oh.. that must have been the phone number I kept ignoring.

"Muds.." I shake my head. "I'm so sorry.. I just-"

"You know what? No." he shakes his head back, and the middle finger emerges from behind him. "FUCK you Stuart."

The door slams behind him as he leaves. A knot in my stomach tightens as I chase after.

"I'm sorry!" I repeat. "I didn't mean for you to find out-"

He turns around. "I DON'T GIVE A SHIT WHAT YOU THINK. Just get the hell out of here."

"I was just worried!" I protest, walking after him. "You're just with so many women-"

"LEAVE ME THE HELL ALONE, GO AWAY."

Against his words, I follow. "wait, please!" He reaches his door, and attempts to go in. My hand reaches out, and touches his. Lightly pulling back. His eyes scan mine.

"Let go!" He growls.

"NO! You need to let me talk to you-"

"THERE'S NOTHING TO TALK ABOUT, LET THE FUCK GO YOU STUPID LITTLE FAGGOT, WHY CAN'T YOU JUST LEAVE ME ALONE?"

And on the word, "go" I almost didn't notice this. A ball of fist, flying into my face as I watch like a deer in headlights.

***THWOP***

And now I'm on the ground, red slowly pouring from my damaged nose. All I can do is look up at him, with that ruby eye that matches the flow running from my nose. I move my hand to my nose, and clutch it.

"YOU STUPID LITTLE FAGGOT!" His words melt together in my head, staying there. He hates me.. and I need to leave him alone.. I need to hate him.

The anger in his eyes slowly fades away as he watches me get up, my eyes still glaring into his, scared, and trying to hate.

"Stu..I'm.. I'm sorry-"

I ignore this, and quickly scurry to my feet.

"I didn't mean that." He pants.

"Yeah you did." Water makes a break at escaping from my eyes. I wont let it. "You know you did."

My feet slowly take me away from all this. But he wont let me leave. His hand rests on my shoulder.

"Lets just forget about all this, okay?"

"You can." I say. "But I wont."

But still, the hand doesn't move. So I begin to run. I run for me, I run for him, I run for everything... But he still follows. I can hear him behind me.

"Stuart-"

"WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?" I shout.

"Doing what?"

I roll my eyes. "Doing what.. DOING WHAT? You.. Confuse me SO much. YOU ACT LIKE YOU DON'T CARE, LIKE A TOTAL ARSEHOLE, AND THAN YOU COME RIGHT BACK AND ACT ALL NICE LIKE NOTHING EVER HAPPENED. WELL SOMETHING DID HAPPEN."

"I said I was fucking sorry!" He argues.

"Whatever." I shake my head as the red continues to spew through my nostrils. "Why are you even bothering with me? I'm a stupid little faggot remember?"

"I SAID I DIDN'T MEAN THAT."

"WELL YOU CAN'T TAKE IT BACK NOW." My voice echoes in the empty hallway, like a ghost.

"And you think I have a problem.."

"Oh yeah?" I snap at him. "WHAT'S MY PROBLEM THAN?"

I've lit his fuse and he begins to burn. "WHY DO YOU DO THIS? YOU MAKE A BIG DEAL OUT OF EVERYTHING, YOU DON'T LIKE IT WHEN I'M WITH OTHER WOMEN, YOU ALWAYS ASK ME TO STAY AFTER THINGS, WHY DO YOU DO IT? WHY DO YOU ACT LIKE THIS!?"

Because.. I love you.. I think to myself.. I love you more than I've ever loved any woman I've ever been with.. But I can't say that, now can I? But I have to.. But I don't know! I need to..  
"WHY?" He asks. "FUCKING ANSWER ME!"

So I do it.. I fucking answer him..

**Ahaha I love cliff hangers :) And cliff hangers means its time for another..(drum roll) REVIEWER VOTE! I hope you guys like these :) So here are your choices for this chapter. **

**A. 2D tells Murdoc that he loves him.**

**B. 2D dosen't tell Murdoc that he loves him.**

**There you all are :) Pick away- ALSO! dont forget to tell me what you think :) I love opinons**

_******NOTE: I HAVE A BETA NOW! I GIVE THE BETA CREDIT TO CHIBIGURL23! CHECK OUT HER STORIES! ****_


	21. 21: Just A Wall

**Chapter 21: Just A Wall **

***VOTE AT THE END!***

**Note: Hey people! Okay, so I've been getting some people asking if this is ending soon.. But once again, this is from BEGINNING to end. This means I'm doing all the phases, plastic beach, do ya thing video, ALL of that shit and its going to be VERY long :) **

**And hey, thanks for voting! This one was a close vote too, and the results don't mean that anything is over. Not at all, believe me there is MUCH more drama in store for all of you :) So here we go..**

**Continued:**

His voice is like needles to my skin, but somehow soft. Like I like to hear it poking and prickling at me.

WHY?" He asks. "FUCKING ANSWER ME!"

So I do it. I do what I accomplish something I've been trying so so long. I fucking answer him. My eyes dart into him, as I softly but loudly mutter:

"Because, Murdoc..." I say slowly, biting my lip hard. "I love you."

And there it is. Its all out there on the table, waiting to be picked up and taken in.

His reaction isn't much different than I'd expected, except there isn't a fist flying into the side of my head. He just looks at me. Looks at me with that ruby of an eye that still matches the now drying flow under my nose. His mouth hangs open like broken drawer.

"What.."

I shake my head. "Don't act so fucking surprised.. You already knew.. Didn't you.."

"Where did this come from.." He asks, with a hint of soft anger in his voice. "When did this happen?" He speaks like it was an accident. An un meant for accident.

"I don't fucking know!" I scoff. "I don't know anything!.. All I know.. Is that I'm in love with you. Simple as that."

"Fucking dammit." He mutters angrily, putting a palm to his face.

"You can't be." He says, quick to uncover his face from his palm. "YOU CAN'T BE IN LOVE WITH ME, YOU JUST CAN'T."

"WELL I AM!" I shout, realizing that we need to quiet down. Kong is big, but Russ and Noodle could be anywhere. The last thing I need, is to explain this.

"I love you.. So much." I begin. "That it hurts me. It fucking kills me, and I don't know what to do about it. I try to stop, but it.. It just comes back."

He stays silent, and another question bothers me.

"I need to know something.." I say.. "How do you feel."

"what?"

"You know what I'm talking about." I sigh. "I just need to know.. How do you feel about me-"

" FUCK, I DON'T KNOW. I've never felt anything about anyone in my life." he hisses. "And I'm not about to start now."

"Bull shit." I shake my head. "That Night when I was sick from withdrawal all those months ago, You thought I fell asleep and you came into my room and told me you wanted me to be okay. You kissed me on the cheek-"

" .Happened." He hisses. "You were sick, you probably just dreamed it-"

"AND BEFORE THAT YOU SAID YOU CARED." I shout. "You told me I was killing myself, with the pills. You wanted me to stop."

"THAT WAS FOR THE BAND."

I put my hands together, and sigh as tension heats the room.

"Listen." I say shakily. "For the past year or so, I have done EVERYTHING for you. You needed a quick fuck? I was there. You were drunk, and could barely move without tripping? I helped you walk.. I lied to my mother for you."

"what?"

"She asked me what was wrong." I breathe. "She asked me if I had something going on with you,.. And for you.. I LIED."

"she asked you that?"

"YES, AND I LIED FOR YOU." I shake. "I lied for you because I love you.. So fucking much, and I'd do anything for you.. Anything, and I don't know why, because you treat me like complete SHIT, and you walk all over me.. But..But-"

"But what?" he says stressfully. "Spit it out!"

I take a deep breath and prepare my words. "But I still wake up in the morning and wish you were there."

I don't pay attention to his reaction, and instead sink down to a sit, against the wall, and put my forehead in my trembling hands.

He hates me. I can feel it. He wants me gone, out of this band.. I've ruined everything. Did it have to be today? Did I even ever have to tell him in the first place? I could have kept this locked away for the rest of forever. But I didn't.

Some movement next to me indicates he's closer. I almost flinch, in fear of being hit. But he just sits down directly next to me, sinking down against the wall in the same way I did.

"well." he says quietly. "We're fucked."

I nod. "That we are."

The silence beats on for a moment, before I break it off.

"I'm sorry I got an STD test."

He shrugs. "Good intentions.. I'm sorry I called you a faggot."

"It might as well be true.I'm sorry I didn't participate last night." I chuckle, as the situation softens.

"Nobody's always in the mood, I guess." He says. "Sorry I damaged your face."

Remembering that, I wipe away some stray blood below my nose with the edge of my sleeve.

"Not Like you've never done it before." I sigh. "I'm sorry I started this whole situation."

He sighs. "Bound to happen at some point.. Sorry I made you lie to your mother."

"S'all right." I nod. "I think I'm out of things to apologize for."

"I'm not." He scoffs.

"Save them." I laugh. "You're not sorry for them anyways."

"Some of them I am, some of them I'm not." he says truthfully. "Like when I hit you in the face with my car. I'm not sorry for that."

"I didn't think so."

"Seriously." he says. "If I hadn't done that we wouldn't be a band.. Plus it was kind of funny." And I can't tell if that was a joke or not..

I turn my head over to him, and catch him watching the wall.. Nothing in particular, just the wall. But he makes it look so beautiful, like there's a beach or a valley overhead, that he pays close, sweet attention to. But I turn back to the wall, and remember it's just a wall. A simple, stupid wall and nothing more. But he makes it look so beautiful..

I shake myself out of thought, and speak up. "I think I have one more thing to apologize for.."

The wall continues to do nothing in front of him as he watches it.

"And what would that be."

"I'm sorry that I love you." It slips out so quick, yet so slow..

A deep breath escapes him, as he doesn't answer, but speaks up in an obvious change of subject.

"That fly.." He points forward, to the wall he's been looking at. A small fly crawls up the surface.

"He hasn't got long to live. I'd say.. Twenty more seconds, at most."

In my head, I count down from twenty. Sure enough, In about twenty seconds, he drops to the floor. Gone.

"How could you tell?" I ask quietly.

"Just could.. Are you gay?" That was a weird change of subject.

"How did that come up?"

"You say you love me." he sighs. "That sounds pretty damn homosexual."

I shrug, and seriously take this into consideration. "I don't think so. I'm not attracted to other men or anything like that.. Its just..Well its just-"

"Its just me?" His interruption proves true, and I nod awkwardly.

"You never answered my question." I add after a moment.

"Hm? What question.."

"How do you.. Feel about me?" This is just silly, I feel like one of those children passing notes in class. Do you like me? Yes, No, Maybe.

He breathes out "Well-"

"Hey!" A shrill, squeaky voice enters the hall as a tall woman with razor like eblows and knees enters the hallway, tapping scuffed red whips a chunk of messy pumpkin coloured hair out of her face, to reveal almost white looking-blue eyes. They're freaky, really..

"I had to like, climb through a window." She chuckles through smeared pink lips.

"Err..Hello there." Murdoc says to her awkwardly. "Miss..."

"Lola." She corrects him. "Lola Leather? Remember? From the Fuzzy Canteen?"

The fuzzy canteen.. If I remember correctly, that's a strip club.. How he manages to pick up strippers, with the no touching rule implied, I really don't know.

"You said we should hang out some time." she says.

"Oh yeah, I did didn't I?" He laughs awkwardly.

I look over at him, mentally asking "who the hell is she?" I wish I'd said that outloud..

"Well I looked you up." she giggles, moving her enormous rack through a tight tubetop, reading "trouble" in stretched out letters. Trouble indeed.

"Did you?" He asks. "Well um.. Good to see you again.. This is my friend..2D."

"Hello Lola." I greet her sweetly. But don't be confused, I don't like her.

"Your adorable." She smiles, revealing a missing Canine toothe. At least we have missing teethe in common.

"Murdoc, your bad at describing people, I like him he's cute."

I turn my head to him. "Bad at describing people?"

"She's just kidding." he says quickly.

Yet, she continues. "You said he looks monstrous, I think he looks like a little ragdoll. I wanna just like, carry him around in my bra, you know?"

Ignoring that last word, I look into him, hurt.

"Monstrous?" I mutter.

"I-That-" Murdoc stutters.

"He doesn't seem annoying either." she says. My chest starts to hurt.

"I mean the way you described this guy, I thought he'd be like TERRIBLE.. I'm actually surprised your hanging out with him over here.. You said you wanted nothing to do with him.. That you didn't hang out with faggots."

The stuff before that didn't much strike me.. I do look pretty monstrous, and I can be annoying.. But calling me a faggot..

"You said that?" I ask, prying my eyes into him.

"I never said a word of it!" he hisses.

"Yeah." she nods. "You did. Did you forget? It was on Bachelor night, and EVERYBODY there was just WASTED.."

So this is what he does.

I look into him, inflicting guilt. This is what he does. He leads me on, to believe he's actually my friend, and maybe even more than that. Than he stomps me out like a dangerous flame.. He's the dangerous flame.

"I have to go." I peel myself up from the wall, and begin to walk quickly away.

"2D wait.." Footsteps follow. I'm halfway down the when a hand gently grabs my shoulder. I spin around to see murdoc clutching my shoulder.

"Wait.." He whispers.

"I think.." I say quietly. "I think its best if you just leave me alone."

"Let me talk to you." He says quietly, refusing to let go.

"You can't say it any louder than that can you." I say, looking back at Lola who stands, looking out a window, cooing at sick pigeons.

"You wouldn't want anyone knowing you actually talk to me would you.."

"don't say that-"

"Leave me.." I throw his hand off my shoulder. "alone.."

On this, I walk off. He doesn't try to follow. No matter how much I wish he would..

Sleep softens some situations, but not others. Usually with me, it softens everything. When me and Paula broke it off, I slept for like a day. When Rachel dumped my arse, I slept for a couple says, I think. But now is different. I can't sleep. I left that hell scene with Murdoc and his stripper woman, like a couple hours ago, but I haven't been able to sleep. Not a wink..

A yellow sliver of light breaks the darkness in my bedroom. A pair of scary blue eyes greets the scene.

"Oh.." Lola says. "This isn't the toilets, is it?"

"No." I chuckle tiredly. "down the hall around the corner."

"Oh, I can wait." she shrugs, flipping the light on and uninvited flopping down on the edge of my bed.

"So what's your deal duck?" she asks. "I mean its only like four o'clock, what are you doing in bed?"

"Bad day." I say. Why am I telling her this again?

"I could tell." she says. "Your a mess, I could see it. What happened? Bad breakup?"

Hesitant to tell her anything, I shrug. "Yeah, sort of."

"Oh poor duck." she frowns. "You know what you need?"

"a scotch?"

"Well that too." she shrugs. "But why don't you come down and see a show at the fuzzy canteen?"

"The strip club?"

"Yeah!" she says. "some half naked broads would get a fully clothed, bitchy one off your mind, wouldn't they?"

"I dunno.." I sigh.

"I'll take you with me! Come on, get up!"

Considering as I just met this woman, I don't really think I should be going anywhere with her.. But you know what? Fuck it. Fuck Murdoc. I'm going to the fuzzy canteen.. And I'm gonna live today."

Several Hours later

Wow.. I love booze. Everything here.. In this strippy place is FUZZY..And pink. And the drinks, they all have funny, sexual names. Like, In the last hour, I've had a butterfucker, a fruity fuck, a hairy slut, and now I'm downing a..A.. What was this one?

I flag down a barmaid in a fuzzy purple corset. "Hey love! Wha- what was this one called again?"

"That would be an LPR sweetie."

"And..what does that stand for again?" I ask.

"Liquid pants remover."

"Oh." I chuckle. "Lovely."

Another useful perk of being 2D is free drinks. Bottoms up, and the rest of the drink is gone. This means ofcourse, I need another one.

"Another.. er pantsy thing." I call out.

"You sure babe?" she cocks her head. "You look pretty totaled."

"Pshh, I'm fine!" I tell her. She shrugs, and cooks another one up, handing me a clear martini glass filled with some murky sort of drink. Whatever, it tastes good.

A tap on the shoulder greets me, as I down part of this drink.

"Huh?" I turn around to see Lola, In uniform. She's a stripper yea know.

"Murdoc's here for you." she says. "He's like freaking out. Go talk to him."

I swallow another sip.

"He can talk to himself over there or..Or whatever, I'm having fun and I don't need him ruining it."

"That's the spirit!" she laughs. "But seriously, he's really pissed."

"If he wants to talk, he can come over here."

"Like you could walk right now anyways. Alright I'll tell him."

A minute later, the rest of my drink is gone and I'm dug up from my roots by a rough hand, dragging me by my arm. Murdoc, Ofcourse.

"Wha- what are you doing here?" I ask.

"Taking you back."

"I- I thought I said I didn't want to talk to you." I jerk back. "L-let me go."

"Your drunk, Stuart." he sighs. "Just shut up and come on."

I try to pull back, but there's no denying the fact that he's stronger than me. The pink neon nights fade away as I'm dragged out into the night, into another lonely parking lot.

"Why are you here?" I ask, once were outside. "It's none of your damn business where I'm at."

"Noodle made me come get you."

I can see right through him.

"No." I laugh. "You wanted to come see me, don't lie! You were worried about me, weren't you?"

He lets go of my arm, and begins to say something when I fall to my knees. I can't tell if this is because I wanna sit down, or I just can't walk.

"shit." he sighs, and picks me up by the arm. "Can't you walk?"

"I dunno."

"Come on, we're going." He picks up the dragging again, and my mind takes this opportunity to remember how much I hate him right now.

"Wait wait wait.." I interrupt. "I recall I'm pretty pissed at you right now!"

"Oh not this again..."

"So I'm monstrous, is that it?" I hiccup. "And you want nothing to do with this little faggot, is that right?"

"I'll explain to you later, when your NOT piss drunk, now come on."

But I don't wanna go with him. I mean, If those things he said about me are true, I don't want anything to do with him either.. But again, I'm in love, and love makes you do crazy fucked up things.. But the question is, what love will make me do now..

**NOTE: Oh poor stuart. :P Murdoc's confession is soon to be, I think, but for now, its time for another vote. I do these alot now. And whatever choice you pick, I promise there will be something cheesesy or lovey like everyone loves, so you cant go wrong :)**

**Should 2D:**

**A: Go Home with Murdoc**

**B: Stay at the Stripclub.**

**Choice is yours, and thank's for voting :)**

***Beta Credit to Chibigurl23 Check out her stuff :D***


	22. 22:Fuzzy Pink Lights

Chapter 22: Fuzzy Pink Lights

Of course, More voting at the end

Standing here, under the starless, cloudy night with a tired, pissed off look plastered over his face. Nothing special, but somehow, he manages to make it look beautiful. Utterly perfect. But complete perfection is nothing in this situation, and I'm still just as pissedoff as he is, and a hell of a lot more.

"You're mean, Murdoc." I hiccup, echoing in the empty parking lot. We tend to make scenes in parking lots, I've noticed.

"What are you, four?" I shake my head.

"You don't have to be 'hic' young for people to be mean to you, and you're mean! YOU'RE A DICK!"

"That's better." I stagger back.

"No, Its not because you shouldn't be a dick to people in the first place. And you know what Mr.. Niccalsies? YOU have lost my respect."

"Mr.. Niccalsies?" He asks. "What did you just call me?"

"It 'hic' doesn't matter." I shake my head. "Because like I said, my respect for you...?" I put my hands together and pull them apart quickly, gesturing something like a magic trick. "POOF! Gone."

"Oh, your respect for me?" His words lack enthusiasm. "Gone? Whatever shall I do?"

"You..." I hiccup. "Are gonna' go home and Toss off like you do so well, and I'm going back inside for another... Whatever that drink was, a pants-shagger or something.."

"No, you're going back to Kong, RIGHT FUCKING NOW!"

"Oh what's wrong?" I put my hands on my knees teasingly. "Muds is afraid of a little ol' stripclub?"

"Believe me, ANY other day I'd be all over that shit, but right now-"

"Pfft." I turn around and cut him off. "Flange.. Afraid of a stupid strip club." Now, it looks like I'm about to get hit in the face. That look he's giving me tells me so. But instead, he just rages off in a typical Murdoc way towards the glowing pink lights.

"screw it, I need a scotch." He mutters. Staggering off after him, I realize I don't want him there.

"No, YOU go home." I call after him. My attempts to shoo him away like a lost dog are useless, chase after as best as I can, and the glowing pink rays take us into a world that smells like cheap perfume, rum and a twist of shame somewhere in there. Taking myself as far away from Murdoc as I can, I find a path through drunk old men to the bar, where I was before. The same woman from before, with the fuzzy corset and plum lipstick shakes a tumbler in her small hands.

"Another...Whatever it was love." She shakes her head.

"Sorry Honey, I'm gonna' have to cut you off."

"What?" I whine. "Aww, come on I've only had like one.."

"You've had enough." Well god dammit, what else is there to do? Shit.. I hang my head low, and think of leaving when an unfamiliar voice comes from beside me, over the roar of 80's porno music.

"Cut off?" He asks. I turn to see a chubby white guy, hidden behind a pair of black aviators. He sports a grin that makes me wanna run off somewhere. Away from here.

"Unfortunately." He shakes his head and taps a stout finger on the glass bar.

"Too bad.. Hey, I know you.." His eyes widen, as does the strange grin. "Your 2D, from gorillaz!" I nod.

"That would be so."

"Man, let me buy you a drink, alright? I'll tell that bitch its for me."

"Hey, thanks." Well, I'm not gonna refuse a drink, now am I? No way in hell... A while after he's ordered it, the woman brings him back two cube glasses, with a yellowish brown in each of them. But instead of handing mine right too me, he turns around and emptys something out of a cylinder tube into one of the glasses.  
I turn my head. "What's 'hic' that?"

"huh? He whips around nervously. "Oh. Sugar.. Its sugar. Don't worry about it." Too wasted to care, I turn back to my own business and start to wonder where Murdoc is. Wait, I don't care, I hope he's in a ditch somewhere! No.. I don't.. Do I? "Here you are my man." The chubby guy turns back and hands me a cube glass with his pale hand. I take it, and eagerly tongue-chuck half of it down my throat.

Weird.. It tasted weird.. Almost like when I keep my pills in my mouth for too long without swallowing them, and it starts to taste dusty.

"What did you say your name was?" I ask.

"Not important. How do you feel?" Strange question, But I answer it anyway.

"Kind of..Weird.." Now that he mentions it.. I'm starting to feel a little funny.. Like, numb and dizzy. Even more so than before. And everything I ever cared about seems.. Gone. Just like, gone.

"Have you seen the bathroom?" The guy asks quietly. Hushly. "Its real cool, like the toilet is shaped like a mouth, and its a one person bathroom.. So it locks. And you can do anything you want in there.."

"cool." I say. "what? Huh?"

"So.. How about I show it to you?" I shrug.

"alright."

My hand is taken by his wet-slippery one, and off we go to wherever, away from the pink lights. I wonder where.. Did he mention before? My head hurts..

I don't care. I don't seem to care about anything. I don't care that Murdoc doesn't love me, I don't care that he said all those things about me.. And I don't care that this chubby man in the aviators is pawing me, snaking his tongue around my neck as I lye nearly half asleep against a mouth shaped toilet.

His glasses are gone now, but I still don't know his eye colour, because His eyes are closed. His tongue.. Its not like Murdocs. This mans is short, and fat. And trying too hard.

His fat hands work they're way down to my pants, and he begins to fidget with the buckle, breathing heavier and heavier every second. I still don't care. I just wanna go to sleep..

He slides my pants halfway down, and than changes his mind or something and goes back to my face, slobbering his fat mouth around in mine, with his hands pushing me harder into the seat, until it begins to hurt.

"You mother fucker." He mutters, mouth still slobbering in mine. "You're not even gonna remember this you stupid arsehole."

I lose half the words he says. They just fall out of my ears, and I don't take them back.

"I'm gonna do things to you..." He hisses. "And you're not even gonna care. Isn't that right pretty boy?" That's right. I don't care. I don't care about anything. Not now at least..

*BANG*

Something loud sounds from the door, echoing in my ears.

"OPEN THE FUCK UP." A voice calls out from behind it. Not just any voice though. The sweaty nameless man on top of me turns his head to the door.

"In a minute! Can't a guy take a dumper in peace around here?"

*BOOM*

But it's too late for fat sweaty guy. He's caught in his act by whoever this is. He's torn up from his roots by a long fingered hand, and thrown to the floor.

"YOU FUCKING DOUCHE, DON'T YOU EVER TOUCH HIM."

Through my half open eyes, a tall man beats the other to the ground. His fists, they just flale and fly into the sweaty fat guy's face. Over and over again. Over, and over, and over.

The sweaty man hasn't got a prayer. He whines, and he cries but he's not gonna get any justice from this other guy.

But who is it? I can't tell.. Everything is too blurry. Wheres Murdoc? I.. I want to see him.. I want so badly to see him. So badly.. Its all I want right now.. All I want in the world.

A rogue, wild fist beats down three more times.. And than just stops. The tall blurry man pants, and heaves, looking down at the mess he's made.

He leans into the man, and speaks quietly. "I ever see you within three feet of him again, I swear on my life, I will find you and caphstrate you. Than I'll take your lowlife balls and shove them so far up your arse they'll come out your eyes. Got it?"

"Uhuh." The man on the floor whines.

On that, my tall hero rushes over, nearly still on his knee's from the beating he's just given.

"Faceache." He mutters. "Wake up.. WAKE UP!" But I am awake..I'm awake, aren't I? It feels like I am.. Murdoc, is that you? "Stuart, If you can hear me, WAKE THE HELL UP." I can hear you.. Can't you hear me? Am I not talking? This all feels so strange..

Am I dead?

I build up every inch of vocal strength I have. "Muds?" A sigh of relief exits him, as we both realize I'm not dead.

"fuck.. I thought- I don't know what I thought, are you alright? Did that dick hurt you?"

"I don't know.. What?" I murmur, squinting my eyes to see him.. I want to see him..

"Murdoc.."

"Yeah?"

"I.. I wanna go home.."

"We will." He sighs. "It's okay.. It'll all be okay..I'm here now.."

I let myself go.. I let myself sleep. Because It's okay. Because he's here, and everything's okay. My body is lifted, and I assume he's picked me up. My head presses up against his hard, warm chest, the sound of his heartbeat pulsing into my ears.. I can sleep now.. But one more thing.. I need to say one more thing.

"Muds.."

"Mhm.?"

The night air becomes feelable as we exit some sort of door, and the 80's ** music dies off along with the Fuzzy Pink Lights, and the sound of busy streets and wind takes over.

"I.. I love you." I say quietly. A silent minute goes by, before-

"I love you too mate.. I don't know in which way.. But I do. ."

His words send a shock to my confused head.

"Really?" I ask, tilting my head up a bit. He pushes my head back down.

"You won't remember this tomorrow anyways, you're still hopped up on roofies.. Just go to sleep."

"who-where are we going?" I ask.

"just be quiet." So I do. I bury my head deeper into him, and I stay in his arms, but somehow leave, drifting off to somewhere I almost don't want to be. I'd somehow rather be here.. Here with him. Where I belong..

**NOTE: Dont't forget to Follow and favorite and all that stuff :_  
REVIEWER VOTE:  
Should Murdoc:**

_**A: Take 2D to a Medical center (Roofallin and Alchohal isn't a good mix)**_

or

_**B: Go Home, and be with 2D**_**  
**

***BETA BY CHIBIGURL23! Check out her stuff!***


	23. 23: Carried On Home

**Chapter 23: Carried on Home**

**NOTE: Alright I've got ALOT planned out for these next couple chapters :) Big plans. Stay tuned :)**

***Ignore any spelling mistakes or grammar errors. My spellchecker program fails, and I gave my beta a break***

Current situation: I don't sleep. I'd like to, hell I'd love too. .But I don't. I let myself lye awake, draped limply across his arms like a wet towel. And I think of the world, and how everything has fallen, piece by shattered piece, into where we are now. Right here, right now.

But hell, my mind just drips through non existent floor boards, and goes right back to the loopiness I've been having in the past thirty minutes.. If I even remember it correctly, which I don't.

And this world.. In this state of mine it seems..Spinning and cracked or distorted.. And I know I'm probably just whacked up.. But I can't help but wonder.. What is it that's making everything so weird.

I gaze up at Murdoc, who walks headstrong with nothing to be ashamed of, carrying his fucked up friend. I toss him my question.

"What.. What's the world?" I ask, but it comes out all jumbled and mixed, like those little balls in the bingo machines.

He doesn't cock his head, or question this. Just keeps walking.

"A place." He says surprising me. "A place where shit happens, and people are born, live, die, and end up somewhere underground. Nothing more really."

"You forgot love." I add.

"Hm?"

"People are born, people live.. and they love." I yawn. Surprisingly, none of those words came out wrong

"You forgot the part where they die." he mutters.

My consciousness slowly melts away as I let out a few more words.

"You don't count that part.. That's the part you don't count..."

"I guess so.."

I prick my head up a bit. "Wait.. Wasn't I mad at you?.. Why?"

He sighs, as a light pattering under the sound of the speeding cars indicates us getting closer to wherever we're going.

"Because I'm a dick." He says sadly.

"Yeah.. You are." I mumble. "Now take me home.. Or else."

"Or else what?" He chuckles.

I yawn. "Or else.. I'll leave you forever, and you'll die because you're depressed cause you can't live without me."

"conceded, are we?"

"No, you're the constipated one."

He laughs warmly, and it might just be the dizziness talking, but he seems to clutch me in closer, my legs dangling safely from his arms.

Everything is loud, and takes over pretty much every other noise but his breathing. And it sounds into my ear, pressed up to his chest.

Here, I can hear everything. The breath from his warm chest coming into my ear with every heartbeat, the rushed roars of city lifestyle... And my own thoughts.. All that I need to hear.

Through some whirl of time, and unknown transportation later, I find myself in the same place after being set down somewhere, like in a car or something, and picked back up again in the same way. Me hanging over his arms limply, he continues to step, quietly.

Echoes, clatters, humming televisions, and hoarse ghostly groaning. I know where we are, I know it.. I just can't remember right now. My head feels so empty. All I seem to be aware of is the fact that I'm extremely tired, shamoo is the freakiest mother fucker on the planet, and Murdoc makes me feel funny in a good way. That one is for sure.

A door opens, and than closes again as I suppose we enter another room, that wafts the scent of cigarettes and cheap cologne into my nose. Another farmiliar smell.. I almost like it..

But I'm loosened from his arms as I almost don't want to be. Am I being dropped? Nope. I'm placed softly on the surface of something cushony. I've been carried home, and placed in bed.

The last time I remember being carried to bed was probably like second grade when I used to fall asleep under a thick blanket of stars, grass itching my neck. Thinking about things, like how words confuse me, and how I wish we could all just think at eachother instead of talking.. Because explaining things is hard, and it still is. Always will be.

But tonight, I'm here. I'm not in my old back yard, I'm in the real world, the exact opposite of a memory. In some bed, I'm not even sure if it's mine or not.

"where am I?" I mumble with closed eyes, and barely open lips.

A weight at the end of the bed indicates murdoc.

"Home." He says quietly.. Dropping off of his words for a moment.

"I'm sorry." He blurts out.

"What.. What for?" My words begin to come out jumbled again.

"Not making you leave that strip club. If I had, you would have never been in this bloody situation.. It's all my fault." Him saying something is his fault. Now that's surprising.. Wait.. What's his fault?

"what.." I break off to yawn. "situation?"

"Nevermind it." He sighs. "Off to bed with you, than."

"Don't leave." I ask. "Please don't leave, I don't want you too."

All I hear for a moment is him breathing. Either that or that's all I want to hear. Him staying.

"alright." He murmurs after a moment, getting up and settling somewhere I can't see. Did he leave? He said he wouldn't..

His voice picks up quietly."You sure you're alright?.. Don't feel sick or anything like that?"

"Tired." I mumble. He's still here. Just sitting somewhere I can't see. I can hear him, and that's really enough.

"I thought ...you Left." I add on.

"I wouldn't."

"Yes you... Would."

"Oh yeah." He chuckles slightly, and the sound of it pricks up a slight smile on my face.

"I would, wouldn't I?"

I don't answer for a moment, and let us sink into the left over silence, before I decide to pull us out of it.

"So..What changed tonight?"

"changed what?"

"You not wanting to leave."

I can pretty much guess that he's shrugging right now. "Dunno. Call yourself lucky."

"What about duckies?"

"Go to sleep." he sighs. " Its been about twenty five minutes, your hitting the bad stage right about now."

If my eyes were open right now, things would be spinning. I feel like I need to take a nap for the rest of my life, and break dance at the same time. I think I'll go with the first choice.

"I'm gonna sleep now." I mumble. "have a nice holiday."

"A lovely one it will be."

And as a more passionate feeling floods into me, I push out a few more words.

"Good. You deserve a good holiday.. Goodnight love."

His reply is unheard as I float off, safe in my own mind and under his watch. Goodnight Kong.. Goodnight love.

A silky rough feeling on my cold feet. Murdoc's cape. This would be the first thing I notice when I wake up, head throbbing, and mind completely blank of most of anything that went on last night.

These sheets.. They're not mine, and neither are these blankets or pillows. Nothing is mine, this room isn't mine.. It's Murdocs.

I've woke up here before, sure.. But those times I'd always known what had happened the night before.. Sex, ofcourse.

But now, I'm just totally blank. The last thing I remember is going to that strip bar and ordering a few funny named drinks.. But from than on, everything goes blank.

Did we.. Do something? He wouldn't.. I mean, I was drunk, and he KNOWS I was pissed at him. He wouldn't just take advantage of me being wasted like that.. But yes he would.. He's Murdoc Niccals. And he's an arsehole. Nothing more.

I toss off the covers on top of me, like they're poisonous or something. In a way, they are. Getting up from the bed, I realize I'm thankfully clothed. My pants are unbuttoned, and unzipped, hanging down a little bit, but still, I'm thankfully clothed.

A light sting pokes out under my shirt on my stomach. Nothing big, just a bit of a sting. Rolling up my shirt, I reveal to myself numerous pink and red lines, outlining the surface of my stomach. Scratches. Like, from fingernails.. And If I know one person who likes to scratch, Its Murdoc. And I suddenly know where I was last night, and exactly what I was doing.. As well as Murdoc.

How could he? How the hell could he. I was fucking drunk, and he just decides to take advantage of that? I thought he'd changed.. I was wrong.. He's the same as he always was.

Full of a fresh rage, I stomp off, nearly out the door when I notice a hunched figure in the corner. Murdoc. Sleeping. Before, I might have thought it looked sweet. Now it's ugly.

While he sleeps, he radiates little snores and breathing noises. Like an old heater. I dread them, the noises. I want them to go away, I don't wanna be here. Anywhere but here.

He begins to wake, slowly beginning to open his eyes. I give him no time to catch me there, and slip out the door quietly, secretly wanting to slam it in his face. Pig. Grimey, filthy, fucking low life arsehole. But how can I be sure? Pff.. This is how I can be sure.

1. My pants were half off this morning.

2. I woke up in his bed. HIS bed.

3. I was INCREDIBLY wasted last night.

4. I don't remember a thing after the strip club.

5. He's Murdoc Niccals. And that's exactly what he would do.

My thoughts coat themselves in rage as I walk off in the empty hallway, to nowhere in particular. Speaking to him in my thoughts.

Slowly.. I began to trust you. I started needing you. Not much at first, just a just a little every day. Not enough to notice, just sort of missing you when you weren't there, than eventually almost wishing we we're more than just a couple of blank slates with sexual needs and no other did you know I had emotions.

So of course, as fate should have it I started to love you. I don't know when it happened, or why, but I just loved you and loved you.. And now, if it's true that you decided to be a dick last night and take control of me while I was wasted.. I don't know If I want to love you anymore.. But its not my choice.. And it never has been.

Eventually, I reach The top of the house. It's either just the roof, a sanctuary, or perhaps on some occasions complete hell. Today, I'm hoping that the graying sky from hundreds of feet off the ground into the sky, might offer some sort of comfort. Maybe something to take my mind off today. Off lastnight.

Most days on the roof, I might grip the railing and spit over the edge, watching it fade to a small white dot, splatting to the ground, or on some occasions, the top of Murdocs head, and he'd chase me with a blow torch. Those days were good. Back before demon days. Before any sort of feeling developed. And even today, I can't decide if I want that back, or the farthest thing from it.

But today, I don't grip the railing. I plant my arse to the ground, and look ahead of me. Hills.. Hills below us. Kong is on the highest hill. I like it, sure.. But I've always sort of wished I could have something to look up at besides stars or the sun..

Crick

The door opens, and that's when my mind jumps to action. Who do I want it to be? Who do I want to be at that door? Do I want it to be noodle, coming to let some of her spunkiness rub off on me, and cheer me up.. Do I want it to be Russell, telling me some sort of good news.. Or do I want it to be Murdoc.

"Faceache? What are you doing up here so early?" It appears it's not my choice.

I don't answer, but bite my bottom lip. Hard. Not even turning around to look at him.

"Are you.. Feeling alright." he says quietly. He doesn't ask it, just sort of pushes it out for me, like a piece of paper that I'm supposed to check, and push back to him. But I don't answer. He doesn't deserve the truth.. Or maybe he does.

"Fuck no, I'm not alright." I murmur.

"Oh." he says awkwardly. "and...err... Why would that be?"

"You tell me."

"Pff... I dunno. You're the one acting strange. Fine. Don't wanna tell me? Solve your own problems."

"I know what you did." I whip my head around to face him. "I'm not that daft you know, I can piece common things together."

He raises an eyebrow. "and what exactly did I do again?"

"As if you don't already know."

"No.. I actually REALLY don't."

Now THIS is starting to piss me off more than I already was, if that's possible. This calls for standing up. I get up from the ground.

"Okay.. So not ONLY did you take advantage of my drunken self.." I hiss. "But now you're gonna make me REPEAT IT?"

He just looks at me, dumbfounded. "What the FUCK are you talking about."

"I KNOW WHAT YOU DID LAST NIGHT, AT THE STRIP CLUB."

"oh? AND WHAT WAS THAT?"

"YOU CAN'T JUST SCREW PEOPLE WHEN THEY'RE DRUNK MURDOC ITS FUCKING IMMORAL."

"First of all." he huffs. "I AM immoral, and second of all, don't flatter yourself."

"don't flatter myself?" I ask in a pissy tone.

He changes the subject. "You were piss drunk D, you don't remember shit. Stop assuming shit you don't know."

"Than tell me." I cross my arms. "what happened last night, huh?"

"You got fucking wasted. You wont remember anything. I had to show up and take you home, because you can't do shit for yourself."

"nothing else?" I ask, even though I know that's not true.

"Nothing else." he says. "So don't go blaming other people for your problems, when its YOUR fault you were drunk last night."

My mouth drops open. "I wouldn't BE drunk if it wasn't for you."

"what do you mean?!"

I trace lola's words. "monstrous. Faggot. Annoying. YOU COULD HAVE JUST SAID THIS TO MY FACE INSTEAD OF SPREADING IT AROUND A GOD DAMN STRIP JOINT."

"You know I find it funny, how you listen to a SLEEZEY STRIPPER AND NOT ME."

"So you didn't say it than?" I ask.

He doesn't answer. Just looks at me. This tells me he did.

"I was drunk that night. Complaining that's all, I didn't mean any of it. You know I didn't."

"YES, YOU DID!" I shout, an ache in my chest building up. "YOU KNOW YOU DID!"

"SO MAYBE I DID." He shouts back. "GIVE ME A REASON NOT TO."

"HOW ABOUT THIS ONE?" I build up for a moment. "I love you...and That's the best reason I can think of."

His famous stare. The one that tells me he's done here.

"Fuck it, I've got a radio appearance to make."

Slam. He's gone.

"FUCK YOU." I yell as he leaves. No answer. I wouldn't expect one show.. He would schedule one without us.. Only him.

I try to hate him.. I really do. I build up every bit of anger and hate, and push it into my memory of him. But all that comes back is one thing, one emotion. Despite everything.

**NOTE: No vote this time :) They'll come back, but for now I think you all will be happy with what's going on :D**

**Don't forget to review, favorite, follow, tell me what you think :) I love your opinions.**


	24. 24: Little White Bottle

**Chapter 24: Little White Bottle**

Fuck Murdoc, like I need to hear him on the radio.. Like I need to hear him at all, its just going to make me hurt even more than I already am. But I don't say this. I just simply explain-

"We hear him talk enough." I shrug, as Noodle fiddles with a nob on a small clunky radio. "Why should we hear it anymore?"

"Support." She says.

"He scheduled a damn interview without us." Russel mumbles. "Why should we support him?"

"To be good bandmates. Its what we do."

"what you do." Russel scoffs. Noodle flashes him a dirty look, and he backs off as the station tunes in.

"He-llo England's children!" A spunky voice pops into the radio. That's the woman from that radio show, the setlist 66.6 ... The one Murdoc always bashed on when we were in the car.

"This is Sexilicious sam, and this fine and dandy afternoon, we seem to have someone special in the studio.. I think you might just know who he is-"

Murdocs voice enters, and I wanna leave the room.

"Well if they don't, they're all bloody idiots." He chimes in. I begin to feel a bit head-sick.

The radio woman laughs. "And If you don't know who that is, you probably are a bloody idiot. Murdoc Niccals here with us today, on 66.6, the setlist. Murdoc How'r you feelin today?"

"Couldn't be worse." He groans. "Or couldn't be better, either one."

"I think we'll hope for the second one. Thanks for coming man!"

"I wouldn't say that just yet.." That was a dirty joke. A murdoc, dirty joke.

She laughs. That should be my laugh. "Well than- Oh jeez, the calls are pouring in already. You ready to talk to some fans?"

He agrees, and the first call is answered. I already want to leave. Some teenage girl breaks off in coo's towards murdoc, and I decide to leave, peeling myself up from the couch. Noodle grabs me by the wrist and jerks me back down.

"Stay." she says sternly." Not one to argue with Noodle, I fall back down to the couch and cross my arms.

I tune my ears back into the radio station. The woman is talking.. "Alright next caller, This is sexilicious sam, and special guest Murdoc Niccals, what can we call you?"

"Bonnie." The girl says excitedly, in sort of a nerdy-spitty voice. "Its it really you murdoc?"

"That would be me, Love." Murdoc says.

"OH MY GOD." She giggles. "are 2D And Noodle and Russel there too?"

"Yeah, I was wondering that too." Sam says. "I'll be honest myself Murdoc, you're sexy as hell, but I was hoping to see 2D too. He's adorable."

I cringe when she calls him sexy. Like a jealous girlfriend. I tune out again, crossing my arms and leaning back on the couch. Russ nudges me.

"D, they're talking about you, listen up."

Curious as I am, I lean up and begin listening again... Sure enough...

"So you've been known not to get along with 2D, Murdoc. Is that all true? Do you really hate eachother?"

I await this answer, my stomach doing flips inside me. I wonder what he'll say.

"Yup." Murdoc says shortly.

I knew that, really. He wouldn't just go on the radio and say,: Hey yeah we've been fucking and he recently told me he loves me.

"Well, I hate him, I think he's quite fond of me actually though." Murdoc adds. Where is he going with this?

"What do you mean?" The caller girl chimes in in question.

"I mean, he pretty much worships me." Murdoc adds. "He's annoying, you know? Swear he's in love with me sometimes.."

He didn't... My face reddens as it becomes easier to hate him. You'd think it would have been implied that he wasn't supposed to hint everything on a live radio show.

"Oh?" Sam says, sort of devilishly. "Is that so? You mean like, he loves you?"

"I dunno. As a bandmate or brother or something, sure.."

"No.." She says. "like in the, I want your gay babies way."

This hurts my brain. Russ and noodle slowly turn their heads to me, questioning me with their eyes.

"what?" I ask. "Its a load of bull!" Murdoc's voice interrupts me.

"Maybe." He laughs. "He is a bit of a fruit, have you seen his hair?"

Sam goes back to the subject, after murder's attempted change.

"And if he was to feel that way about you.. How do you feel?"

"...what?"

Well Sam, I've already asked this question. And your answer will be no different than the one I got.

" Just curious, I mean, if he was totally gay for you, would you be totally gay back?"

"No." He answers immediately. "I've never felt anything like that about anyone in my life, and I'm not about to start now. ESPECIALLY for 2D. I mean look at him, he's a scrawny annoying little retard who can't walk three feet without tripping. If it weren't for his voice, he'd be an embarrassment to the band."

"That's not true." Noodle says, as soon as he's done talking. She lays a hand on my knee.

"She's right, that's bullshit." Russ shakes his head. "If anything Murdoc's a fucking embarrassment."

Their consolment does nothing. I look at my feet, hanging my head. Angry, sad, I don't know, I don't know what I feel.

Sam's voice picks up from the speaker again. "You really don't like him, do you Murdoc?"

"I put up with him." Murdoc says. "That's the farthest thing to friendliness you'll ever find with me and him."

"Fuck it." I mutter, and jolt up from the couch. I can't take any more of this. I've achieved it. I hate him. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him. And I say it.

"Douche. I fucking hate him." I murmur, walking off.

"Touch, wait!" Noodle calls. "Come back, he probably din't mean it.."

I know he meant it. He meant every word, and I hope he did, because I don't want to deal with him anymore. I should have known. This is the real Murder, this is him. And I hate every inch of him.

I don't know what I'm doing, or where I'm going. All I know Is I'm passed. Extremely, fucking passed and I'm gonna do something about it.

I pretty much fly into my room, and grab my cell off the bedside table. With my foot, I drag out a heavy yellow book, and plop it onto my bed. I begin to thumb through it, looking for S. It takes a minute, but there it is.. The phone number.

Set list, 66.6

I quickly push the buttons on the phone, dialing the number. I nearly get them wrong as rage takes over my fingers. The phone line is empty, ringing. It must have been ringing for five minutes, when someone finally picks up.

"Hello, you have reached the office for radio station set list, 66.6, how may I help you today?" A perky young voice picks up.

"Can I be connected to the radio please.. As a guest caller?" I ask.

"Hold on." The woman breaks out of formality. "You sound REALLY farmiliar."

Well, this usually works..

"This is 2D from Gorillaz." I say. The woman gasps.

"HOLY HELL! I knew you sounded farmiliar! How are you doing, oh my god this is crazy! My name is janit-"

"Hey janit." I say. "Could you connect me to...err... Sexilicious sam's phone line, please?"

"Her real name is Bertuenia."

"Like.. burr-toon-ya?" I ask. "nevermore, could I be connected please?"

"Right away Mr.. 2D, one sec."

"Thanks Janit." And of course, not a minute later I'm connected.

"Well, janit said this was an important call." Sam laughs. "Lets see if it is, who would this be?"

"Yeah, who the bloody hell are you?" I can hear murdoc just as well.

I don't speak for a minute, out of a pure streak of nervousness. He sounds so different through radio-phone connection...

Sam-eherm. Berteunia speaks up again. "Are you gonna tell us-"

"Shut up Bertuenia!" I snap.

"Hey little punk, who the hell do you think you are?" She snaps back. "My name is sam, and who are you?"

"Murder.." I say slowly. "Fuck you.. I hate you."

I hate you. He knows its me. I can tell by his lack of reply. He just sits there quietly, and I hang up. Semi-relived.. But not really, because I've still got the mother of all headaches.

Pills. There's an emergency bottle under my bed that I got a couple days ago, and I've just remembered them.. I quickly sink to the ground, and peer into the dusty underneath of my bed. There it is, a little white cylinder, right where I put it. I snatch it, and take it into my trembling hands.

My phone rings in the background. Its Murder, I already know. Than it rings again, and again. I still don't pick up, but focus my eyes in on the little white bottle in my hand:

Princeton Plainsborro, Vicodin..Pot, Stuart.. Prescribed b: Mullgle, Vincent

This is my only friend besides lying. The only other thing I put ontop of everything else. It upsets my mother and others just as well. But i need it. I slump down, and throw my head back onto my bed, let out a sigh, and finally screw off the top to the bottle.

Usually I only take two or three. This is different. My brain.. Its like melting, and just everything around me is falling. But that's the thing.. Nothing is falling.

Everything is perfect. Perfect, and I'm just a screw up. A screw up with a perfect life, the perfect friends, the perfect occupation, girls all around me, no one is dead, and I should be happy. I should be.

But I'm not. I'm not, and I don't know why, but I know EXACTLY why. Murdoc. Why can't he just be Murdoc? The Murdoc I thought I knew. The one I wish he was.

But than again I love him. I hate him so fucking much, but I love everything about him, every inch of him, everything he does, everything he is, I love. I'm in love with him.. But he hates me. He hates me.

I need to stop. I need to stop this, I need to sleep. My head is killing me. I just need to sleep and wake up in a few good hours, and prepare for the oncoming tour. Act like everything is normal.. But to act like everything is normal, everything needs to BE normal. And the closest thing to that is pretending like it is. So pills.

Those will be my way out, my way to PRETEND like everything is normal.

So I do it. I empty out five or six, or seven or however many into my hand and take them into my mouth like a hungry animal. I can take it, I'm experienced. They're gone so fast, I barely had a chance to feel them, or taste them.

And soon enough, I begin to feel tired. Tired, and woozy. Sleep. Here it is. I can finally take it. Goodbye room.. See you in a couple hours or so.. And goodbye headache.. Hello strange feeling in my body..

This isn't my room. This is the inside of my eyelids, and I'm not even awake yet.. Wait, yes I am. My eyes just aren't open. Well, I guess I'll open them already. A fancy white room. I knew my bed wasn't this comfortable.

Pretty pictures, and nice chairs and fancy decorations surround me. Where am I? Oh shit.. I'm dead arent I? I'm dead, I'm dead oh shit i'm dead.

"Hello?" I lean up from said comfortable bed and look around. God, how many times do I have to wake up with no idea where I am?

"Is anyone there?"

A cream colored door, with carved in swirls opens up, and a young dark woman with curly black hair and a white uniform walks in.

"You're awake Stuart." she smiles, and speaks in a soothing voice. "Good."

"Am I dead?' I ask, near to immediately. "Did I die? Where am I?"

"No." she laughs. "Not even close, lucky for you. You escaped that."

"Escaped what, death?" I ask. "Where am I?"

She smiles again, and closes the door. "Essex park Drug and Alcohol rehabilitation center."

I only understood about half of that.

"er.. Does that mean rehab?" I gulp.

"If that's what you feel comfortable calling it, than yes."

My mouth drops open, and I know exactly why I'm here. No doubt in my mind, I've overdosed on Vicodin. And here I am. Rehab.

**NOTE: Dun dun dun! Haha, don't forget to review, follow, favorite, all that stuff :) Tell me what you think! :D**

**(if it says murder instead of murdoc anywhere in here, blame auto correct :P)**


	25. 25: 2D OD

**Chapter 25: 2D-OD**

But I can't be here! I just can't, I mean the tour is in what, like a couple weeks? My head starts to panic, and nervousness rushes into each vein and I trip over words.

"I- I can't be here." I tell the Woman, who's name tag reads Mckenna in happy comfortable letters.

"Oh boy." she sighs, putting her hands to her hips. She's not the kind of person who deals with this I guess, Just an assistant. Doesn't deal with bigger problems.

"You'll have to talk to Doctor Harmon about that."

I force words out my mouth, despite my shaking "But- But I don't know who he is, and I have a tour coming up soon!"

"Would you like me to bring him in for you?" Miss Mckenna, she speaks almost roboticly. Like pre-programmed. Rubber smile glued onto her metal skull.. I wonder if she is one..

"Yeah, I guess." I sigh. "Thank you."

"No problem, I'll have him in shortly."

The door shuts as she leaves, and I remain nearly lifeless from shock. Rehab? First jail, than rehab? What the hell happened to me... What's my mother going to think?

That's it, this is fucking it what the hell is happening? Why am I all the sudden so deep and problemed all of the sudden? Things used to be normal, I was normal. Just your average guy.. Now, I'm this... This COMPLETELY different person...

A strange, but comfortable cotton feeling covers my body. These aren't the clothes I was wearing before... These are like, almost hospital scrubs or something like that. Did they dress me while I was out? That's creepy to think about...

There's a dresser over there... Maybe my clothes are in there. Sure enough, most of my clothes from Kong are in there, despite some inappropriately labeled things. I change everything, underwear and all, and put on fresh clothes that they must have washed.

Nearly on time, a short man with a gingery beard and matching tufts on his head enters the room with of course, a clip board.

"I see you're up and at it, aren't you?" He smiles. "I'm Doctor Harmon. Have a seat Stuart, I'd like to chat with you."

I do as he says, and quietly take a seat on one of the fancy arm chairs. He takes one opposite. And as every doctor does, he starts out with the same question:

"How are you feeling this afternoon?"

"Fine." I say quietly. "Can I leave today?"

"Now, now." He begins. "The healing process will take more than just a day."

"Healing process? What healing process?"

"Stuart..." He sighs. "You understand why you're here, don't you?"

I'm pretty sure why, but I shake my head anyways, just to be sure.

"Your body has overdosed on prescription Vicodin."

I knew it. As soon as that woman said the word rehab, I knew it.

"It was an accident." I lie. "I didn't mean too!"

He shifts in his seat and looks into me. "I've talked to you're mother Stu, and she's told me you have a history with Vicodin miss-use and addiction."

"Mum." I mutter. "Where is she?"

"She and your father are staying in a hotel east of Essex, so they can come see you."

Jeez, Mum must be heart broken... Her son, her only son. Turned out to be an addict... But I'm not even addicted.

I voice my thoughts. "But I'm not even addicted!"

"All the tests show that you are."

"Tests?" I ask. "What tests?... How long will I be here?"

"A couple of months."

"MONTHS?" I nearly jump up from my seat. "MONTHS? NO! I have a tour! You- You can't keep me here without my agreeing, I'm an adult!"

He nods. "Yes, That is true. This is something you'll have to take up with your family, and hopefully you'll make the right decision. As for your tour, we've already spoken to your tour managers, and they're willing to reschedule."

They're pissed. Dave, the head manager.. He's probably pulling his non existent hair out right now. First being arrested for fighting... And now this.

And Murdoc... Forget him, Russell and Noodle! How could I do this to them? Especially poor Noodle... This meant the world to her...

"Can I see my friends?" I ask, pretty much accepting all of this.

"Unfortunately.." He sighs. Uh oh. "You can't. It interrupts with the healing process. You are however welcome to see your family a few times."

Murdoc. This is his fault, his fucking fault. He pissed me the fuck off, and I overdosed because of him. I could kill him. I could kill him, and I never want to see him again. When I come back, I'll just have to tolerate him. Tolerate him, and that's all.

"Now about the healing process." Harmon says. " We've scheduled to have you meet with your healing group once a day in room 4-B."

I listen, but barely take his words. I'm stuck on everything else, glued to it all. Poor Russell, poor Noodle, poor mum and dad...and Murdoc. How I never wanna even think of him again. But I can't even help that.

I slowly bring my head up. "So I can't even see my friends."

He shakes his head with a bit of sorrow. "I'm sorry.. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

I shake my head for no.

"Alright. Mckenna will be here in an hour to take you to your first group healing meeting. I suggest you shower up, or what not."

He gives me some sort of goodbye or whatever that I don't listen to. I've screwed over everything.. Everyone. But I didn't do it alone. My rage towards Murdoc builds up. Screw this, screw him.. Screw everyone.

One Week Later

It's never been hard for me to make friends. I mean, not now at least. But as I sit at this little cafeteria table, I look around at the group I've acquired.

There's Clarena, a scrawny woman with dirty blonde hair and sunken cheeks that bare cuts. She doesn't speak much.

And Jeram, a tall black man with long dreads that rest on his shoulders. He's sort of hot tempered.

To top it off, there's Will. The sort of leader. A chubby aggressive man with a soft spot for Clarena.

These people aren't really my friends. But just like highschool, in rehab I've learned there are cliques. The real druggies, the thugs, and more. I fit in with just sort of the rejects... The left overs on the plate, the kids that never got picked for the soccer team.

I twirl my fork at some well cooked spaghetti (rehab has decent food), but I don't eat because It makes me think of Noodle.

The poor girl, she's like my sister and I've just betrayed her and Russ... I wonder what they're doing right now... I wonder what Murdoc's doing.

Dammit Stuart, stop thinking about him! God, it's like just because I hate him now he's ALL I ever think about. Everything leads back to him. I want it to stop, I just wanna forget.. Can't I have that?"

"Hey, If it aint 2D-OD!" A voice laughs from behind me. Carrell. The Latino man I met in that jail cell. Apparently, he's gotten a job here as a janitor to pay for the engagement ring he bought his wife.

As for 2D-OD, that's the name I've gotten here. You know, like 2D- Overdose? Kind of sick, but I don't really care.

"Hey man." I greet as he pats my back, and looks around checking for workers. With none watching, he pulls up a chair and sits by me.

"How you doin man? How's that girl of yours, I forgot to ask, did you tell her you love her yet?"

"Things.." I sigh. "Things didn't really work out with us.."

He cringes. "Aww.. Dude I'm sorry... What'd she do?"

"Well first off, I told her I loved her and she.. Well... Come to think of it she never really answered."

"Well..." He laughs. "You can't say something didn't work out if she never even answered you. You gotta make her answer!... I mean, not force her, but you know?"

I nod in agreement. Even though I don't agree and I should just tell him that Murdoc-ahem.. Muranda, was a complete dick/bitch, waste of time, and broke me into pieces. Pieces I haven't exactly been able to pick up yet.

Everything feels empty. It's night.. Like one A.M, and everyone is locked up in they're rooms, in bed... All the employees are asleep... In fact, I'm sure everyone is asleep but me.

I sit perched on my bed, staring into the Tv that only shows two channels with boring shows, and no blood and guts or anything.

I can't sleep. Something feels missing. I mean hell, everything is missing.. But something in particular is missing... I don't know what it is though.

*Knock Knock*

"bah!" I nearly tip over at the noise of someone knocking.. Who the hell? Is someone at the door? I walk over to the door, and caustically open it up. No one but an empty hallway. No one but me and a sleeping building.

*Knock Knock*

There it is again! What the hell is that? I open the door once more.. Still, nothing.

"You Idiot, I'm over here!" I turn around at the voice. The voice of whom I know exactly who it is. Its coming from the window. At the window, my second floor window, mind you, sits him, perched on what must be a ladder, looking directly into me. Murdoc.

**NOTE: OOH shocker :) Don't forget to follow favorite and review! Tell me what you think!**


	26. 26: Like Peter Pan

**Chapter 26: Like Peter Pan**

**AN: Auto correct is a bitch, ain't it? Haha, ignore those mistakes. **

***WARNING! SEXUAL CONTENT YOU PEOPLE :P***

There he is. Behind a thin sheet of glass, silently begging me to let him in. Bull SHIT, that's the very last thing I'm doing... And How the hell did her get here anyways? Wouldn't the security have caught him?

Well whatever, I'm not letting him in. Who the hell does he think I am, a teenage girl? Nope. He can get taken in by a stupid guard for all I care. Besides, those window's don't even open without a nurse key.

But according to Murdoc and this random key they do. He takes a silvery key from out of nowhere and puts it in the lock. A nurse key. And since when do windows open from outside?

Nevermind that. After fooling around with the lock and key, he shoves the window up and open, only to pull himself over the windowsill and over with some backpack type parcel around his shoulder. He picks himself up and quickly shuts it, hunching to the ground and peeking over the edge.

"Are they looking?" He pants.

"What? Who?"

"The gate guards, or nurses, or anyone."

I peek out the window. Nope, surprisingly, nothing going on.

"No." I shake my head, and suddenly remember how pissed off I am at him.

He shakes himself off, and stands up, quickly shutting the blinds and sighing. An awkward grin takes his face.

"Who do you think you are fucking peterpan?!" I shout through a whisper.

He looks around the room. "Fuck. It's too clean in here."

" Yeah, they actually clean things here, and by the way..." I add casually. "WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING SNEAKING-"

"Hey, quiet down." He hisses, cupping his hand quickly over my mouth. "Fuck, you're gonna get me caught."

I jerk his hand off my mouth

"That's what I should do. Now... Get out the window or whatever, and just..Just... Go, get outa here!"

He stands up, still breathing heavily. "You know how much trouble I went through to get here?"

"How did you even get past watch?"

He rolls his eyes. "Decoys. Distractions. Extra hired people. That's all I'm going to say."

"And climbing up here? How was that done?"

"Noodle taught me how to climb pipes. Again, all I'm saying."

I look at him. Just stare at him for a while. Pissed off.

He rubs the back of his head and laughs awkwardly. "Soo.. Err... I'm guessing you heard me on the radio?"

I nod, and sit on the edge of my bed. Just wanting him to leave.

"I sound kind of...err... Strange, on the radio don't I?" He tries to soften things, but it doesn't work." He still breathes heavily. I guess illegally stalking windows takes its toll on you."

"Yeah, you sound kind of like a dick on the radio. Is that like just a bad connection thing, or do you always sound like an arsehole?" That was sarcastic, ofcourse.

He sighs, puts a palm to his head as he finally stops the heavy breathing.

"You uh.. You heard that, I guess."

I turn my head and nod. I don't wanna look at him.

He sighs, and takes a seat next to me on the bed.

"Right." He groans. "As much as I hate talking about things, I think I should explain some stuff..."

"No." I say. "There's nothing to be said! You went and dicked around on the radio, and now the world thinks I'm gay."

"It was only broadcasted in a few parts..."

"Yeah well, word spreads quick." I mutter.

"Who's gonna believe me anyway?" He asks. "I mean, according to the rest of the world, I hate you, so I would say something like that!"

I keep my mouth shut. Staring at the floor, trying to burn things with my eyes.

Everything is quiet till he speaks up.

"I didn't mean any of it though, you know I didn't! It was for show, you know? If I went off saying everything was perfectly fine between us, they might suspect something."

I get up from the bed to escape him, and place myself on the stool infront of a vanity type thing I never use. I look at myself, and his reflection stands out from the bed, watching me too.

"So..." I begin, not even turning around. "Calling me out, and telling U.K I'm a creepy little follower boy makes everything alright? Makes it look like.. Like none of this ever happened? Like you never jumped my bones that night noodle left a while ago?!"

"I didn't Jump your bones." He gets up too. "And I'm trying to apologize here, so just let me! Sweet Satan..."

I turn around. "You're not apologizing for anything! Just making up excuses! I don't want your stupid excuses!"

"What DO you want?" He's starting to get angry. "You want me to write you a poem? A song? You want me to get down on one knee and devote myself to you for the rest of FUCKING eternity?"

"No.." I say quietly. He doesn't hear me. Just goes on.

"I'm not that kind of guy." If we didn't have to be quiet, he'd be shouting.

"You won't find me bringing you flowers, or cuddling, or any of those stupid-"

"I never asked for that!" I interrupt him, raising my voice just enough.

" . Fucking asked for you to write me poetry, or cuddle, or... Or bring me flowers or any of that shit!... All's I want is to be able to turn my back for a minute without you acting like a sixteen year old and spreading shit about me behind my back."

He lets down a bit, and shakes off his anger. "Alright, I'm sorry okay? I'm sorry, and you KNOW I didn't mean any of those things, okay?"

Still keeping quiet, I rest my elbows on the table and take my forehead into my hands. Just wishing he'd leave...

He shoots for a total change of subject. "Are you okay? Since the overdose, I mean."

"I dunno..." I sigh. "Am I? I'm in a damned rehabilitation center. The doctors here are fucking mental: they don't let me do anything, My head's been in pain ever since I've been here, and I haven't been outside in a week."

"Don't they let you go outside?" He asks.

"Yeah."

"Why don't you than?"

I shrug. "Don't want to."

"Hell.." He says in slight amazement or something like it. "Look at you. What, have you lost like thirty pounds since you've been here?"

I look down at myself. I dunno, I haven't really noticed anything. I guess I am a bit smaller. I can't really think of anything to say back.

Murdoc slips back into his own self. . "Well... I smuggled you some of your stuff, because I'm that amazing."

I turn my head a bit, to see him pulling up that backpack I saw him carrying through the window. He unzips it, and pulls out a few D.V.D cases. He hands them to me, and they include: The brood, 28 days later, and dawn of the dead. Some stuff from my movie cabinet.

He pulls out a few more things, such as a carton of cigarettes and a lighter, a bottle of single malt whiskey, my personal player, and a variety of junk food.

"Oh.. Also, you probably aren't getting much tail in here..." I'm confused to what that means for a moment, but he only just pulls out a couple smutty films with raunchy titles like throbbing hood, and 10 things I'd lick about you.

"So you bring me porn and food..." I say slowly.

He holds up a finger. "Porn, food AND booze."

"Okay... So you bring me porn food AND booze... And you expect to just be off the hook?"

He nods. "Err, yeah that was the idea."

I shake my head and turn back around. God dammit, why can't he just leave and accept the fact that he's a douche?

"The smutty films were a nice touch.." I say. "But I still think you should go, and we need to just forget about everything..."

"What else did I do?!" He asks. "Hell, I apologized for everything, I even brought you some stuff-"

I turn around. "Yeah, that's nice but you're forgetting something."

"what?"

"Don't act like I'm an idiot. I KNOW what happened that night after the strip club."

"Fuck." He groans. "No. You DON'T."

"I don't? Than what did happen, huh?" I pry at him. Waiting for him to come clean. Tell me the truth.

"I'm a dick, I know." He says, looking into me. "And the shitty things I've done, I don't deny them. You know that... So why would I lie about this?"

I try not to look at him... But I can't. I watch him try to explain.

He begins to speak quieter. "And why would I even do something like that in the first place?"

It's hard not to believe him, It really is. But what happened that night?

"Than what did happen?" I ask. "I mean, when I get wasted I can usually remember a few things, but everything is just blank! Like... Like I blacked out or something..."

"Well..." He begins, getting a bit closer. I stand up. "That's because you weren't just drunk."

I raise an eyebrow nervously. "Not just drunk?... What d'you mean?"

With a distressed look on his face, he pulls up a stray chair and sits down. Looks like I'm about to be sorry I ever asked.

"I didn't think I'd have to explain this." He says. "But... shit..."

"Just tell me." I say softly, beginning to let my anger away. Believing him.

"What happened?"

After a moment, he starts off.

"That night at the strip bar... You weren't any where I could see. I thought you might be getting a dance or something somewhere, but I asked one of the broads working the bar, and she told me she'd seen you talking to some creep... Acting strange."

My heart drops, as an idea of what might have happened pops into my head.

"The guy bought you a drink, she told me." He continues. "And you went off with him towards the bathroom... Than I knew.."

Oh no... This doesn't sound good.

"I got to the bathroom and the door was locked, so I picked it, and when I got in there, the bastard was... Well, all over you. I pulled him off before he got far, luckily. Taught him a lesson and took you out of there. He was close though. The reason you were in my bed, is because... Well too much booze and roofies aren't such a good mix, and I thought I should make sure you didn't keel over in the night. I thought it would have been creepier if you woke up and I was in your room."

But I barely even listened to that last part. Now I just stare at the floor, mouth hung open. This is all so hard to believe! But I know its true... I can just feel it. I mean.. How does this happen? When did I go from normal guy to date rape victim slash rehabilitation clinic patient?

Murdoc must sense how I'm feeling. He speaks up.

"I'm sorry-"

"Why didn't you tell me?" I ask.

"You were lucky you didn't know." He says. "A lot of people wouldn't want to know. And like I said, he didn't get far. I stopped him before he did anything serious..."

That helps, but it doesn't help much. I pick at my nails nervously.

"Are you going to be alright?" He asks.

I nod uncomfortably. "Yeah... I'll just have to let it go, I guess... Just... How could someone do something like that? That's just really fucked."

"Yeah, I know." He sighs, giving me a subtle pat on the back. As I look over to him, something hits me like a brick to the skull.

What else is he here for? The look on his face, the vibe he's giving off. It all kind of tells me there's something else he's here for.

"Why'd you come here?" I ask out of impulse.

"To give you your stuff and explain the radio talk thing." He says.

I shake my head. "You snuck into a rehab after midnight, and risked prison or jail, just for that?"

"Well-... Yeah. I should go." He all the sudden rubs off sort of nervous, and goes for the window, peeking under the blinds.

"Huh?" I scratch my head. "You're leaving now? You've only been here for what, twenty minutes?"

"Time goes fast." He shrugs, readying the key for the window.

"Wait-" I pull him softly by the arm. Just sort of telling him he doesn't have to go... Not yet.

This results in him turning his head from the window. "What is it? It's late, I should have been gone already..."

I quirk half a smile. "You don't have to go... You could stay..."

The way he looks at me makes my stomach ache... And not in a bad way, but a good one. A really, really good one. God, how can you be straight when you think a guy like him just looks so... So-

My thoughts are left in my head as he leaves the window behind, shutting the blinds while softly shoving his lips into mine. Finally.. Damn, how long has it been?

With one hand, he finishes shutting the blinds, and the other takes ahold of my waste as our lips fool about. We'll have to be quiet this time... But Jesus, its been long enough, I'm ready for this.

But what lead up to this? Why? Shit, who knows. All I know it's real, and it's happening right now. As for weather it should happen or not, I'll deal with later. For now, just relax...

He gets to work quick, switching from playing soft, to rough. He pushes me down to the bed as quietly as he can, though somehow remaining tough. Nurses coming in here right now wouldn't be so great.

I know I've thought of this a million times before, but his tongue is so long! I mean it makes mine look tiny, when it just occupies my whole mouth. Must be easier to get in with my missing teethe. Just a thought.

We've done this enough that I've become good at multi-tasking: Kissing him, and sliding off my own pants at the same time, though he likes to do that job. Murdoc's funny that way, always trying to be dominant. So he slides off my pants, and takes off his own shirt afterwards, and leaving mine on to get sweaty.

But as we do this, his tongue working magic in my mouth, my mind sets to work. What if the nurses hear?

I pull his face of mine with my hands and look at him. "What if the nurses hear?"

"They won't if you shut up." He grumbles, switching his mouth to my neck, beginning to suck and make little circles with his tongue.

What he does with his tongue makes me shiver in a good way, as a small noise escapes my mouth and seems to echo in the room.

"Quiet you." He hisses seductively. "Any other day I'd let you scream whatever the hell you want, but do you want to get caught?"

A warmth moves around in my stomach. Like when you take a shot of southern comfort, or vodka. But I find this a lot better. I move around under him, with an urge to do something more.. To be more active.

In a sudden rush, I get out from under him, and turn the tables so I'm on top of him. He looks surprised, but he shouldn't be. Again, we haven't done this in a while, and withdrawal can do things to people.

"Damn." He laughs quietly as I get to work licking his bare chest area, and all around it. Take that! Who's in charge NOW?... Probably still him...

But I keep trying. Trying to make myself less spineless, and more involved... But than again how uninvolved can you be when you're doing..Err..This.

An idea takes my mind, or rather my hand... And I slip my hand under through his belt and begin to fool around with him like he did when I was on the phone that one time. He seems to like this, I guess.

And than it happens. Or it already has happen, and I just haven't noticed, but my shaft rises itself and it looks like I'm ready. I'm not so great at holding out. Damn boner's...

One way or another, he notices. I pull my hand back gently, and peel my shirt off my sweaty back as he kicks off the shoes I've just realized he's wearing. And than his pants go. Than my drawers... And than his...

And than I get nervous again, like I always do when this time reaches. He knows it's time, I know it's time but I still redden in the face because I'm so damn awkward.

But as he does everytime, he assures me it's alright with a few kisses on my pulsing neck.

"You're fine." He says quietly. "Ready?"

I nod. "Ahem... Err so.. How are we to do this?" That's always my question. My wondering of what position or whatever.

"Just lay on your side." He says all too casually. "Like, a spoon position type thing."

I cock my head. "How do you know all this?"

"Nevermind that, just do it."

I remember we'll need something to smoothe impact. He recognizes the look on my face, and pulls up the backpack only to retrieve a blue bottle of lubricant. Like, REAL lube. Not lotion or vaseline or anything like that.

"Were you expecting this to happen?" I laugh.

He shrugs as he lubes himself up. "You can never be too careful, can you? Now hurry up and lye down."

Nervous as I always am, I lay down as the pulsating in me grows with every second. I know its coming, I'm just waiting for it.

He lye's on his side in back of me, almost under me sort of. And here it is. Inside me. With it, I seem to let go of everything. It still hurts, but not as bad as it did the first few times. It almost sucks to say I'm getting used to it. But shit, it really starts to feel good. Like, REALLY good.

He pulsates in me, and begins to buck back and forth a bit.

"oh shit." I groan."Jesus.."

I try to hold myself back, but he just hits something in me that almost.. I don't know makes me go half crazy with pleasure. Holding it back doesn't work and a loud noise breaks out of me.

His hand blocks my mouth. It holds back all the other noises, and they muffle behind his hand. I'm left to breathe heavily out of my nose.

After a few minutes, he's trusted me to keep quieter, and he removes his hand as he continues to rock our bodies together, in quick motion. I feel him sliding around inside me, and it just shuts down every emotion but the one I use right now.

"Muds." I moan. " Oh shit, Murdoc!"

He says something back, but I can't even hear him. I'm just too deep in everything else. Everything around just melts away. The stress, the headaches... They're gone for now. No where to be found.

I get louder again, unfortunately. His hand takes its place back there, and blocks my heavy breathing. He figures he should just keep it there, and doesn't move it.

Seconds of this pass, and than minutes of us, just us doing what no one needs to know about. Than ten minutes, than twenty, and than soon enough I lose count.

The pulsating reaches its limit, and I know I won't be able to hold back for much longer. But I have to, I have to try.. So I do.

His hand still stays put to block my moans and whines as he rocks us faster and faster. The bedsheets, I've just realized are sticking to us as sweat pretty much pours from me.

And than.. He leans in a bit closer , but gently so not to hurt me. His mouth is just by my ear.

He begins to whisper "Glad I came through you're window now?"

That's what does it, what finishes me. What finally spills me onto the sheets with one final groan, that I'm glad he blocked with his hand. Otherwise, we might have some trouble here.

Not long after, he sets himself free and his escapes too, onto the sheets, and onto me. Crap, how am I gonna explain this to the maids?

But I don't care right now. Right now is wonderful. The sleepiness sinks in, as I almost fall asleep. But something stops me. Something wakes everything in me up, and opens my eyes. Words.

"I love you." He pants.

I jerk up slowly at the words and look at him as my heart races. "Huh?"

Am I already asleep, or did he just say what I think he just said?

His eyes widen too, as he gets up. He looks like he's seen a ghost. Or regrets what he's just said.

"Nothing. I should go." He mumbles as he quickly pulls on his drawers.

"What?" I ask, sort of hurt. "Did you just say-"

"No." He says sternly. "Go to sleep, I'll see you when you're out of here."

I'm speechless as he puts on the rest of his clothes. Like a professional, fast and quietly. I wonder how he's so fast at that.

When he's dressed, he goes for the window and looks out, peeking around.

"It's alright muds, what did you say?" I ask again, trying to comfort him.

"Nothing!" He snaps quietly, turning the key in the lock.

"Look, just go to fucking sleep, okay?"

The window opens, and without even a goodbye, or an -I'm sorry I'm leaving you for roadkill- he's gone. Out the window, and gone. I didn't even catch how he left. And how's he gonna get out without guards catching him? I guess he's pretty smart when it comes to that stuff, like sneaking around and things... And he said he'd had some sort of plan.

I just sit here, on this mess of a bed, with my mouth hung open. I don't know weather to be over joyed, or pissed off or what.

"I love you." His words ring in my head, just like he said them. Perfectly as he said them.

The bed calls me, and I sink back down. Hoping for him to just come back through the window. Like peter pan. But he won't. I know that.

So I drift off, with new ideas about things fresh in my head. And I don't let them go... Not for anything.


	27. 27: Men With Toys

**Chapter 27: Men with Toys**

**A Month or so later**

The morning after Murdoc snuck through my window was a real pain in the arse. No really, I mean that night took its toll on my backside. I mean during, it wasn't so bad, but the next morning hit me like a chunk of sandstone.

Speaking of the next day, I'd also caught word of a security breach. I almost shat my pants when I heard that, considering the fact that I thought it might have been Murdoc getting caught. I asked Carrell the janitor, and apparently it was just a naked korean man running around in front of the security. Apparently, the man had been payed anonymously to do it.

This, I knew for sure was Murdoc's distraction or decoy thing he was talking about.

Still, even now I sit staring blankly in this stupid healing class, running his words through my head.

The soft heavy hum of our mixed breathing, that all the sudden stopped when the words _I love you_ escaped his mouth.

Don't get me wrong though, I'm not really hovering over this. Hell, it's been like a month or so.

But I think about it now, and I wonder if he really meant it. You don't really say "I love you" eight seconds after the sex is over unless you mean it. Well, if you want to screw things up severely and totally break the other person, you do. But I don't think Murdoc would go that far... I think just maybe he might have meant it-

"Would you like to share anything, Stuart?" The healing class coach picks me out of my daydream and drops me face down on to the hard-cold ground of earth.

"Err... about what?" I mutter as the rest of the circle looks at me like I'm a damned idiot.

The leader woman sighs, and straightens up the glasses to ft her thin nose. "about -"

"That won't be necessary for you to answer, Stuart." That sounds like Doctor Harmon.

I turn around to see him waiting quietly by the door way as the rest of the class turns to look at him.

"Oh.." I nod. "Umm.. okay."

"I'm sorry to interrupt miss Rollansign." Hartman turns and smiles at the teacher lady, whose name I keep forgetting. I guess it's Miss Rollansign.

"But I need to take Stuart with me." He continues. The rest of the pill poppers and acid heads snicker and "ooh" at me, as I nervously get up from my cheap plastic folding chair, twiddling my fingers.

Oh jesus, what did I do? The first thing that jumps my mind as the classroom door shuts, is that they found out about Murdoc sneaking into my room.

"Err... Doctor Hartman?" I ask as we follow the length of the long hallway. "What exactly am I needed for?"

"Important visitor." He looks back at me and smiles.

Important visitor? Who would be important enough to get me pulled out of that stupid class? They don't even let me leave to pee.

But eventually, we're there. He takes me into a small comfortable office with pictures of pastel country scenes, and flower vases. In one of the corner chairs, is Dave. The head manager. Same hurried look on his face, a dark beard rimming his face.

"Oh. Hey Dave." I greet him casually. Why would he wanna visit?

"2D!" He gets up hurriedly, and pats me on the back. "Good, you're here Lad, I've got something to chat with you about."

"Am I in trouble?" I ask.

He laughs. "No, nothing like that."

"I'll leave you two. Let me know if I can help with anything." Hartman signs us off and leaves.

"Sit down, sit down." Dave offers me a chair like he owns the place. I accept anyway, and sit down.

"What's up?" I ask.

Dave's face starts to grow tired.

"Look." He sighs, balling up his hands underneath his fuzzy chin. "2D, you're a slow kid, and you're not great with understanding long spiels, so I'm just gonna keep this short, and to the direct point, okay?"

Ignoring the fact that he pretty much just called me stupid, I nod. "Er.. okay."

"The radio tour needs to happen." He explains. "So we're pulling you out of here early."

Huh? Can he even do that? I cock my head and give my thoughts voice.

"Can you even do that?"

He ignores my question. "The radio stations and listeners... I'm telling you, they're not happy about the tour being postponed. Their listeners are tuning out, and when the listeners aren't happy, the station isn't happy. When the station isn't happy, we don't get PAID. They've started wanting to cancel. We can't have that."

I barely process any of that. "Yeah... but can you even do that? Is pulling me out legal?"

"You're a grown man." he says. "If you refuse treatment, they're legally obliged to let you out. They do it with crack head country singers all the time! Besides, you're better now, aren't you lad?"

I shrug, because I really don't know. "I guess so, yeah."

He pats me on the head like I'm an obidient dog. "Good! You just have to agree, and say you need out. That you're all better."

So.. wait. I could have gotten out of here the WHOLE time? All I had to do was say so? This pisses me off, but at the same time I'm happy. I can FINNALY get out of here.

Than the thought of my mother jumps into my head, and how this is going to shake her. But hey, I can deal! This is a good thing!... Isn't it?

One thing I learned in rehab, besides Murdoc will go to great lengths to get laid, and _"You can over come your addictions because you're a great person!"_, Is that the record label is serious about their money. And I mean enough to get me out of there on the very next day after Dave talked to me.

The doctors aren't pleased, and neither is Mum. She cried, and tried to fight against it. But in the end, I won. If I didn't do this, I'd lose my job and be right back to where I was. A lifeless pile of skin behind a shop counter. I don't want to go back there.

So here, Is where I am. Back in my own room. Dirty, and it smells like mold and vanilla. I only got back this morning, but I already feel back at home... Well except for one thing.

Murdoc hasn't accepted me back yet. Not even so much as a hello, or soda can to the side of the head. I would have gladly accepted either, just because well... I missed him... It sounds totally and incredibly gay, but I did. And when I walked through those front doors this morning, and noodle flew into me, and wished me a happy late birthday along with an unexpected cake, Russ joining with a manly hug... Murdoc wasn't there. And my heart sank a bit. Though i do love unexpected birthday cake.

I did see him later though. Just walking by, through the kitchen to grab a beer. I made the mistake of letting him know I was there, with a small "hey". He didn't even look back. Wouldn't give me that much.

The tip of a greying sock hangs out my broken zippered suitcase. I shove it back in, and fiddle with the zipper. Still broken.

"Still broken?" Noodle peeks in through the crack of my door. I think she might be able to read my thoughts.

"Still broken." I nod.

She walks in and finds a place on my bed to sit on.

"Better fix it than." she says. "The bus is coming soon, and Murdoc is not pleased that you are not ready."

"Tell him to shove it." I shrug moodily, still screwing with this stupid zipper. "I just got back this morning, so he can take it up with me if he wants too."

"Okay." she shrugs back and gets up from the bed to leave.

"No wait." I stop her. "Don't actually tell him that, he'll kill me."

"Not kill you." she says. "You are too valuable. He'd just damage you, that's all."

"I'm damaged enough." I chuckle. "Don't think he can damage a rehab patient any much more."

Noodle doesn't find this funny.

"I still do not think it was wise of you to leave so early." she says emptily. "It cannot be healthy."

"Sure it can." I say. "If it means you don't get your face kicked in by Murdoc, it's healthy."

She's cutt off from trying to say something by obvious yelling.

"I SWEAR TO FUCK, IF HE'S NOT PACKED YET I'LL SELL THE REST OF HIS TEETH TO TEENAGE GIRLS ON EBAY."

Murdoc doesn't sound too pleased Noodle turns back to me and can't help but laugh.

"You heard him." she giggles. "Meet you downstairs."

She leaves, and nothing more is accomplished. My suitcase zipper still isn't fixed.

Well, whatever. That's what duct tape is for, right? I grab a shiny grey roll from my top drawer and tape it up around the broken part. Good as new! Not really, but who cares?

Now than, let's get a move on. Maybe, just maybe I can make today normal. No awkward squabble with Murdoc, just a normal day.

After getting lost in a hallway I didn't even know was there, I find myself back on track, tugging my shabby suitcase to the bottom of a flight of stairs.

Noodle and Russ sit with their suitcases, chatting and what not. And guess who isn't there?

"Where's Murdoc?" I ask as they turn to me and notice I'm here.

"Up stairs." Noodle says as I plant my heavy bag to the floor with a sigh

"Nice." I mutter. "Gives me quite a time about packing slowly, and he's not even down yet? What's he even doing up there?"

"Wasting our damn time, that's what." Russ rolls his eyes. "That bus has been outside waiting for like ten minutes! Jesus..."

"Patience is key to greatness." Noodle says calmly. In other words, shut up you guys, he'll be down soon enough.

Russell taps his foot. " Whatever, I say we hit the airport without him."

"Airport?" I ask. "I thought we were taking a bus?"

"We are." He replies. "TO the airport."

After a bit of explanation from than, I find out we're doing the american tour first. Well that hardly makes any sense, we're already IN United Kingdom, why don't we just tour here first? Americans must be impatient or something.

*Bloop*

The elevator tells us someones here, and cracks my thoughts with its blooping. Murdoc walks out with his bags in his hand to match the ones under his eyes. Looking hung over as ever.

"Wonderful." He mutters sarcastically, than raising his voice as he walks out. "Carrying my own bags, don't I have people to do this for me? I should be up there with Keith Richards, and Davey Jones, an all those other blokes who're too iced out to carry their own shit."

"I don't even like any'a them much, but don't think for one second you're above them." Russ spits at murdoc. Not literally.

"Yeah, OK tubs. Calm your knickers. I'm here aren't I?" On his way over he roughly brushes me, nearly knocking me over. Still, without much of a hello or hey or anything...

" Oy,what took you so long?" I ask. Without an answer, he lights up a cigarette and brings up his own words.

"Right than, let's go." He totally ignores me as I watch him leave with his bags, a stupid look present on my face.

Is he really... ignoring me?

**2D'S Hotel Room, a Few days later:**

It's funny, the things people do to get things off their minds. Like gaze out their stupid hotel room window's at a big stupid pointy building in the middle of big stupid seattle. When none of it is stupid at all. When none of it is stupid at all. In fact, from where I am, everything is perfect. completely, and totally perfect looking.

That's it. I can't let our situation just sit around and rot anymore, It's killing me. Looking at the cityscape doesn't help at all.

I need to talk to Murdoc. He's not going to be happy, but I need to. We literally havent talked in days, like a month actually. The last time he even payed any knowledge at all to me was that knight with the window and all... That needs to change.

I need to ask him about what he said... If he meant it.

I leave the open cityscape and stuff my room key in my pocket, venturing out into the hallway. There it is, down the yellow lit, fancily decorated hall. Murdoc's door.

I reach it, and almost knock. But something stops me. Something tells me no. Should I really do this? Risk everything by asking? I don't think I have much of a choice... well, here it goes...

***Knock Knock***

What started as a soft knock turned harsh by the second one. Like I can't decide whether this meeting is gonna be gentle, or rough. But it doesn't matter, no answer anyways. So I try again.

*Knock Knock*

"Who the hell..." A muffled voice and the clatter of some bottles comes from inside the door. Sounds like he's up.

After a moment, the door swings open and nearly hits me in the face. Jesus, he smells of rum and regret. And he don't look to great either... Or he's just unpleased to see me.

"Oh... its you." He says groggily.

"Yeah, it's me." I say awkwardly.

"Well.." He sighs. "Unless you've got a bottle of something horribly intoxicating, I suggest you take yourself elsewhere."

I shake my head. "Actually... I've been meaning to ask you something."

With a roll of his mismatched eyes, he makes an attempt at shutting the door in my face. I catch it with my foot.

"Come on!" I protest. "Just let me in... It's important."

"Yeah, and so is the color of my rose garden." He says sarcastically. "Now back off."

I sigh, and look at him directly. Hoping to spark something in him. "Please?"

"NO! Get away, shoo! Go on, scamper off!"

"Just a minute, that's all it'll take!"

He bows his head and rubs it with an annoyed sigh. "You're not going to leave me alone unless I agree, are you?"

I nod.

It seems to stay quiet for a second before he speaks. "And it'll only take a minute?"

I nod again.

"Yeah, it'd better." He complains, opening up the door to let me in. "Otherwise I'll have your balls on a pedestal."

"Owch." I say quietly, following him in. Beside from it being a regular hotel room, it's not much different from his room at kong. Covered in trash, most things turned over, and a strong smell of scotch and sweat wafting heavily through.

He flops down onto the couch that matches the one in my room. I take the chair opposite it.

"So." He says shortly.

"So." I say back.

He looks around. "Soo?"

"Soo?" I repeat him, only cause I'm unsure of what to say.

"If this is all you're going to do-" He hisses.

"No, no!" I say. "I'll talk, I'll talk."

"Well than, spit it out already!"

"Okay!" I shout nervously as my heart runs circles in my chest. "I just... I needed to... that night when you came through my window..."

"Oh boy." He sighs.

"Did you mean it?" I say quickly, spitting it out like he told me to.

"Mean what?" He asks emptily.

"You know..." I say shyly. I feel myself reddening in the face. "What you said..."

"No, I don't know." He says. "You'll have to remind me."

I begin to prepare his words when he interrupts me.

"Actually, don't." He holds a hand up. "I think your minute is up. Why don't you go back to your room and watch one of your stupid movies or something."

"Huh?" I ask. He just gets up and opens the door, showing me the exit with his hands.

"Have a decent evening." He says.

I get back up with a slight new rage. I follow over, but don't leave. I grab the door and shut it.

"You wanna know what you said?" I ask rhetorically. "You said you loved me."

He gives me a cold, angry look.

"Did I?" He asks loudly. "Interesting.. because that might just be the farthest thing there is from the truth."

And I'm just nearly done with him. He's just so unbelievably... ugh, I don't even know!

"Than why'd you say it, huh?!" I ask. "Why do you do this?"

"Why do I do what? I'm not doing SHIT!"

"How can you SAY that?" I shout at him, nearly ready to burst with anger or tears or a mixture of every feeling I've had in the past year.

"You..." I begin. " In this past year, you CONSTANTLY throw me around like I'm nothing. You use me for your own sick twisted wantings, you throw me about like I'm some creature that can't feel emotions, you exploit me and spread things about me when I'm not looking.. And than if that's not enough, you trick me."

"What? Trick you?"

"Yep." I nod. " You fool me into believing you're a good guy! That you actually care for me! You told me you fucking loved me, and you knew how I'd react to that. Why? Because I love you. And I don't even know how that's possible."

He holds a finger out. "There it is! RIGHT FUCKING THERE. Theres the damn problem."

"Oh. what?" I ask "What would that be?"

"You just make everything ten times more dramatic than it has to be!" He shouts at me. "This was just mates with benefits, not some relationship..."

I sigh and throw everything out on the table. "I can't do this anymore. This mates with benefits thing, I can't do it."

"Why the hell not?"

"Murdoc, it's picking me apart!" I explain to him. " Its like... we're okay for a while, and than we just fight again and again, over and over. It just keeps repeating!I can't do it! It's like I can have part of you... but not the part I want."

"And what part is that?"

"The part..." I say slowly, as this past year spins around me. I break off with a sigh.

"The part that obviously isn't there. I thought it was, but I guess I was wrong. People say you're rude, gross, incapable of anything but hate. I thought they were wrong. I guess I thought you were anything but what they thought... Someone different. And I really believed it. I guess I got off thinking you were a human, with human emotions. But I guess I was wrong, wasn't I?"

Everything is quiet as we study each other. Not moving, just still.

His words even still play in my head. _"I love you."_

I break the silence. "You were right. My time is up."

I go for the door and try to open it.

"2D, wait..." Murdoc says softly. Tries to stop me.

Everything in me tells me to stop. Turn around. See what he has to say. But something in my judgement tells me to go on.

"No." I shake my head. "I'm not your toy anymore. Goodnight."

"Wait"

I break off and shut the door. Capping it all. Half waiting for him to come out and say everything I want him to. But people are their own. They do what they want, what they feel... and other people don't control them. That's why I just left. And why I won't come back.

**NOTE: At least that's what he thinks :P Alright, review, follow, favorite, do all that good stuff if you like it :)**


	28. 28: Guilt is a Bitch

**Chapter 28: Guilt is a Bitch**

**Note: Thank you for all your love! :D It means a lot, and at the end of this there will be another... REVIEWER VOTE :) I've gotten more requests, so there you go!**

You know, I keep forgetting. Forgetting that life isn't a screenplay, and things aren't written out to be beautiful, and sweet. Not in the least. No, life is at random, and stupid shit happens. Things change, you know?

I was played with, no doubt about that. Stepped on, thrown around, beat... Like a doll. Hell I may sort of look like it, but I'm not one! I'm not Murdoc's doll, and he can't do this.

Why does he think he can do this anyway? He's a dick, that's why. He'll do that to anyone, anyone at all. He probably just chose me cause he doesn't like me, and he knew toying around with me would piss me off in the long run.

But you know what Murdoc? Tonight, I'm forgetting about your sorry arse. Not just tonight, in fact... But every night, and every day.

Before I really know what's happening I find myself out the hotel front doors smack in the middle of the rushing city, numerous giggling women standing their distances.

The cityscape draws my attention away from Them. Seattle is a lot like every other city, I think. Except for that thing in the middle of everything. That big shiny needle that stretches its head into the deep sky. What was it called again?Nevermind, forget that. I've things to accomplish tonight.

**Some Inner City Nightclub, about an hour later:**

I guess by accomplish things, I must've meant sit pathetically alone at a nightclub bar under neon rays and flashing lights, while everyone around me has the time of their lives.

I'm alone of course. By myself, poking my lips at the tip of a bottle of Fat Tire now and then.

But does it even help? Well hey, a brew isn't bad... but no, it really doesn't help. I still feel shitty. And even better, Murdoc is probably knocking off some broad back in his hotel room.

Just the fact that all of this doesn't bother him at all, while I sit here unable to think of anything else... It just... It adds to how steamed I am, so I should just stop thinking of it already. Just... I should-

"Hey buddy." The guy who gave me my beer a few minutes ago drags me out of my thoughts. . This is the first time I've been out in a place like this since the strip club that night. And I sure as hell don't want to repeat that night. But not all strangers are bad I guess.

"Huh?" I ask, still nervously.

He shrugs and slicks back his oily blonde hair. "What's your deal? I mean hey, I aint Oprah, but any other guy surrounded by loose babes would act. Fast. What's your problem?"

"Tired, I guess." I say quickly, twiddling my fingers together. He sways his mouth off to the side suspiciously.

"I know whats up." He scoffs.

"Oh... you do?" I ask. Wonder what he'll come up with?

"Yeah." He nods and pinches his squared chin. "You're gettin over a girl. I can see it."

Well, it's not like I'm about to tell him the truth. I nod. "That's it, yeah. Er... Heartbroken."

"Well, you know what's good for that... dontcha?" He raises an eyebrow at me suggestively. I almost take it the wrong way.

"I think I know."

"Good. That one, over there... see her?" He points out behind me into the sea of people. But out of the sea, a pair of eyes look back at me. Prying at me fearcley.

They belong to a woman with hair like redwood teased up ferociously. Her jaw moves up and down as she opens and closes her mouth. That sounded wrong, but she's actually chewing gum... and ACTUALLY chewing it quite seductively while eying me.

She knows I see her, and doesn't even care. All of the sudden she takes two fingers with hair matching acrylics and pulls the gum from her mouth, but holding onto it with her teeth so that it stretches out. Farther and farther. Snap.

I turn back to the bartender. "Yeesh, you were right! This womans like a red headed Destiny Davis..."

Though she's not as pretty as Destiny Davis, she's quite a fit bird.

"No idea who that is. You british and your funny talk." He laughs. "Well, what are you waiting for? She's practicly begging for you to tear her panties off with your teeth, so why don't you?"

That's the thing. WHY don't I? Hell, I had no problem with this before, when I used to hang out with Shane and the others down by the tracks. I almost had women by the dozen!

But the seasons have changed... and well, so have I. And picking up one woman seems so much harder when you have so much else crawling about your head.

"Hey Bluey!" The bartender snaps his fingers at me. "What are you, in dream land? Damn, get off and tag this girl before I do."

I should. I really should. And you know what? I will. Fuck you Murdoc. Fuck you.

With that decision, I quietly get up with my eyes on that woman. I pull myself toward her, step by step, and when I finally get there she makes the first move.

"I thought you'd never get over here." She giggles, twisting a lock of red in her fingers. She smiles to show a gap in her front teeth.

"Well here I am." I laugh back. "Can I buy you a drink, or what?"

"Only if you ask me my name first." She might be trying to sound serious, but she just keeps giggling sort of annoyingly.

"Right." I say. "And what would that be love?"

"Anja."

"That's a cute one." I say. "What is that, swedish?"

_That's Russian you cock-up, even I know that. _A raspy echo fills my head.

Murdoc? What in the hell are you doing talking in my head?

_Maybe I'm your conscience. Lucifer begs you need one._

Shit, withdrawal sickness must be kicking in... At least it's not the bad kind...

"Are... you okay?" Anja kicks murdoc out of my head. I pull myself out of my thoughts.

"Huh? Oh, yeah. I'm sorry, what were you saying?"

She smiles and accepts my stupidity. "I was saying my name means grace in russian. It was my grandmothers name."

_Told you_

Bloody hell Murdoc, shut up!

He seems to listen as I go on with this girl. "Oh...err... well its quite lovely. By the way, I'm-"

"2D!" She interrupts me enthusiastically "I already know who YOU are."

_Oooh. She already knows who YOU are. Better run off kid, looks like she's got this in the bag.. Your head in a bag, I mean._

I know what I'm doing you twit.

"Well, can I get you a drink?" I cough nervously into my hand.

"Sure."

_Heres to hoping you've stocked your pockets on roofalin. You're going to need it._

Shut up Murdoc... Just shut up.

**The next Morning:**

_Rise and shine, Tusschunk._

But I don't want to! Please just hush up, you're making me feel like a loon with all this head talking.

_It's not my fault you choose to hear my voice in withdrawal. Hell, it could have been Sara Harding, or one of those Models from that show you watch._

I watched that show ONE time. ONCE!

_And I just happened to walk in when you were crying to it? Twice?_

I had cornmeal in my eyes!

_How the hell did you get- Never mind that, you're in bed with a fine woman and you're talking to your own illusions? Tsk tsk. You'll never get far in life._

Why are you so rude?

_I dunno, it's my damned birthday and you haven't even mentioned it you twit._

Oh it is, isn't it? Happy birthday.

_Not accepted. Now get out of here before things get ugly._

Murdoc's voice breaks off, and this is when I realize just where I am. Or for what matter, where I'm not.

I'm in some bed. That woman, Anja. She lies next to me, spilling her red hair onto a violet pillowcase. She's completely nude, as am I. This must be her apartment Oh yeah, that's right I scored last night... Gee, I'd almost forgotten. I guess I won. The next game? Getting out of here without her seeing me.

As I quietly slip my clothes on, that's when something sinks in. Some mood or feeling drips into my skin, and upsets me quite a lot. Is it guilt?

When I'm fully dressed, I take one last look at the girl on the bed and suddenly realize that I feel absolutely nothing for her. Nothing at all. And in some way I'm ashamed, and sick of myself.

Without wasting much time, I leave without looking back. Yes, this is definitely guilt. I almost feel... like I cheated in some way. Like I've been unfaithful. Like I'll get back and Murdoc will suddenly know, and beat me with a rolled up copy of penthouse.

But the thing is even if he did know, he wouldn't give two shits. Not even two.

I find my way back to the hotel one way or another. I barely even remember the name, but the Taxi man finds me out one way or another, and drops me off where I need to be. But as I walk through the hotel, I remember something. Today isn't only Murdoc's birthday. It's the night of the seattle radio tour.

Wow it'll sure be easy to perform with him... That was sarcasm by the way.

Luckily through worry,I do remember where my room is though, and that's easy to find. Here it is. The hallway that hosts all of our doors. As it did last night, everything smells so fancy and important. And theres my door. If I can just get there without-

_**Creek**_

A door opposite mine opens to show me the last thing in the world besides shamoo I'd want to see right now. A shady image standing tiredly in the doorway.

"Where the hell were you?" Murdoc asks groggily, a rough look on his face. He shuts the door behind him.

"Out." I mutter, as I move on.

He doesn't let me. "Out?" He asks. "What'd you mean OUT?"

"Out as in, I went out and had some drinks, that's what I mean OUT. Is that a problem?"

He's about to say something, when a lady's voice rings through the door. "Hey, get back here. I wasn't finished with you."

He sort of looks back to the door, and than to me, and back to the door.

"Err..." He mutters. "I-"

And over everything, I get angry again. Like it's his fault... Like even though I just slept with a woman, he wasn't allowed to either.

"Save it." I tell him. "Happy fucking birthday."

And without even looking back, I move on... And it's honestly really fucking hard.

**After the Radio tour:**

It's hard to perform well when mixed emotions swallow you hole. I mean, it's not easy to play keyboard when you've been stomached by your own stupid emotions.

For now, I sit on the curb outside the radio tour with a flaming fag between my fingers. And I look back on what only ended like ten minutes ago.

I kept looking at him. I just kept looking back, and watching his fingers tickle the strings of his bass. Thinking over if I'd rather break those fingers in half, or hold them.

It ended with wanting to break them, though I didn't. Not like I would in the first place anyway. I'm not strong enough, and he'd probably get my neck before I came anywhere close to getting his fingers.

But the show went well, I guess. We did perform nicely, even if I was in no mood. But still, the stench of awkward was deep in the air.

And this air smells of coffee and cigarettes. Maybe it's just cause It's seattle, but it really does. The sun threatens to set as I sit by myself, staring in front of me. Waiting for something.

**HONK**

And there it is, I guess. A damaged white sedan swerves up to me. Who the hell?

The window rolls down, and can you guess who it is? I mean really, who else would it be, but the birthday boy himself, Murdoc. Can he even drive American cars?

"Err... Hey." He says, just loud enough for me to hear him.

I act as though he's not there, and take another puff on my fag.

The gentle silence leaves. He ruins it. "Look you can ignore me if you want, but I'm driving back to the hotel, and if you want a ride..."

I blow out a puff of grey, and look up at him. "Can you even drive american cars?"

"As a matter of fact, I can." He says. "Or well... Not really, but I can if I want to. Now are you coming with me or not?"

"Why would you want to take me with you?" I ask sourly.

"er... friendly gesture?"

"You don't do friendly gestures." I mutter. "And I don't believe you."

"what are you talking about?"

I sigh and shake my head. "If I know you, I'll end up in a ditch somewhere instead of back at the hotel."

"Come on." He persuades sweetly. It sort of makes me cringe. "2D ol chap, you can trust me, can't you?"

"No."

He glares at me, and starts off on another short silence, before breaking it.

"Well... Look at it this way. You can rot in a parking lot, or except my kindly offer. Now what'll it be?"

Well... He's not exactly wrong on this one. Hey, I can't drive american cars, and I've left my wallet back at the hotel, so no taxi...

But Murdoc isn't exactly my bucket of trust. Or anyone's for that matter.

**REVIEWER VOTE!: Okay, like it or not: We're having another one :) I've gotten more requests for them, so here you are:**

**Should 2D:**

**A: Trust Murdoc, and Leave with him (Not necessarily straight back to the hotel :O)**

**Or**

**B: Stay here, and go with his inner judgement.**

**Choice be yours :) Vote away!**


	29. 29: You'll be Alright

**Chapter 29: You'll be alright **

**(HOLY SHIT LONGEST CHAPTER EVER PREPARE YOURSELVES. Just act like its two chapters, haha :) )**

**NOTE: Okay guys, so I just looked back at the past few chapters and SHIT... My spelling and grammar was REALLY off. If it helps any, A lot of those chapters were written extremely lazily, and I didn't even put them through a spell check or check them myself before writing. Sorry for that :P But anyways, thanks for voting, and here you go! Ps: Sorry this is kind of late :P-**

So according to everything logical floating around in my empty cracker box of a skull, he's completely right. It boils down to this:

I could rot in this parking lot until someone's gracious enough to pick me up, or I could leave with Murdoc now. Take a perfectly fine ride.

But that's the thing. It's not completely perfect. But is anything really?

"Look." He sighs over thick seattle wind. "Just take the damn ride. What have you got to lose?"

I hover over doubt again, but he's right. I've lost anything there is to have with him so it's not like I've anything to gamble anyways.

Slightly embarrassed due to giving in, I wordlessly give up and climb off the curb as he watches. Seeing If I might go with him, or leave.

But I take myself to the passenger side I'm not used to, and pry open the door. He looks a bit relived as I take the seat. Not that I'm looking at him... I shouldn't be anyways.

The sound of the door closing pokes a hole in what would have been silence. But when it's closed, the quiet comes back as it always does. Nothing to distract us from the tension that eats us.

A rumbling mechanical noise clues in the car starting, and we set off. Well... HE sets off, I'm just here trying to stray as far away from the word _we_ as I can.

And I almost expect him to say something. But he doesn't. I even catch myself scrolling my eyes to him.

He almost looks nervous, or uneasy. Shifting around like he's uncomfortable.

Though I can't lie that I'm curious, I flick my eyes back center. What do I care if he's uneasy? What do I care... Dropping myself off this topic, I turn and look out the window.

Jeez If a cityscape of cement mountains wont calm you down what will? Each cement mountain of a building out there sparkles with the exitment and hopes and dreams of everyone who lives out there. Or just the light switches they flip on and off when they come and go.

But if you look at it, Isn't it sort of the same thing? Our happiness, our excitement, our love and every good feeling we it can kind of be killed with the flip of an imaginary switch, can't it? That quick. Gone.

The topic tempts my eyes into stealing a glance back at Murdoc. He still looks nerve ridden. Almost jumpy.

"What's _your problem_?" I ask sort of snottily.

"Huh? None, none at all." He jumps out of some sort of trance almost, and mows quickly over words. "I'm fine. Chipper and all."

"No you're not." I shake my head. "You're all jumpy and nervous acting."

"It's nothing." He says. "probably just a bad batch of ditch weed."

I nearly protest, but turn back center and forget about it. What does it matter? I don't care whats wrong.

"Well that went well." He says semi brightly.

"What went well..." I ask without much question in my voice.

"That radio gig or show or concert. Whatever you wanna call it."

"mhm." I agree wearily, mind skipping back to the event. How I just kept looking back at him and his quick fingers... Strumming out deep heavy noises. Drawing me in. Calling to me. I shake this off and sigh.

He just adds on to what he's said before. "You uhh... you did... good."

That sort of surprises me. Everytime we play he tells me I could have done better. I raise an eyebrow at this.

"Thanks?" I reply emptily.

"And the fact that this was all held on the birthday of the one and only Murdoc Niccals makes it a bit more fancy too."

I agree in a soulless tone. Like a pre-programmed robot. "Uh-huh."

Between each set of words he's been throwing out, there's a long silence that gives me a chance to forget he's even there. Still, he keeps taking it away.

"Not really the gift I was hoping for though." He sighs, as I suspect he's probably drumming his long fingers on the steering wheel he's not used to. I can't see him, I focus out the window.

"You're gonna get us killed you know." I grumble. "Driving these stupid america cars..."

"Calm your pots." He says, letting out a light snicker at his stupid joke.

"That wasn't even funny." I mumble, even though if I didn't half hate him I'd be laughing.

"Maybe it wasn't meant to be than." He scoffs. "Now as I was saying... I'm still hoping for someone to send in a Rum basted tramp covered in butterscotch icing. Hold the candles."

"Won't that be nice." I say quietly, and sarcastically. What a sweet image of him being with some street woman later.

"It could be." He says with a developing sexual tone. Uh oh. "But you know... if the skank is unavailable... I'd be happy to pursue other options."

I don't even answer. Is he _really _fucking doing this right now?

"If you catch what I mean." He adds seductively.

I droop my head in pure anger and rub the temples of my forehead.

"Don't do this." I sigh.

"What? Why not? It _is_ my birthday afterall."

"You're kidding right?" I raise my head and look to him.

"Why would I kid?" He sounds so serious.

"Because!" I raise my voice. "I talked to you about this LITTERALY last night."

"I don't quite recall." He says a bit sassily.

"You're seriously doing this?" I ask, feeling like this is just unreal. "You couldn't just leave it at that, huh?"

"Leave it at what?"

"At the fact..." I stutter, falling over my words like bumps in a long road. "The fact that I can't _do _this anymore."

"Do_ what_?" He asks, nearly teasingly. Not even looking at me.

"This!" I give him what he wants and repeat it as I begin to shake. "All of this stuff! Your teasing, the fighting... everything changing around... and most of all... The the"

He cuts me off. "The sex?"

"Exactly!" I almost shout.

"Oh really?" He says casually. "You didn't think it was good?"

"No!" I disagree nervously.

"I mean... I mean yes!... I mean... It was good, the sex was good." My awkward rambling reddens my cheeks. And as I look back, it _really was_ good. And we haven't in a while. pff, we never will again! But just thinking about it...

"I thought so." He says charmingly. "What with the way you sounded _during_, I don't think it could have been bad."

This makes my face even hotter... And unfortunately, other parts of me. The pit of my stomach begins to boil and sends signals to my brain that I want something. But no god dammit, no!

I shake my head. "But that's not the point."

"Than what is the point? Would you like to clear that up for me?"

"The point is..." I let out a warm breath. "That all this needs to stop. I'm done with it, I can't go on like this. You know that! And jesus, it doesn't make it easier when you're... you're..."

He finishes my sentence again. "Turning you on?"

"Yeah!... I mean not that I am" Something stops me, and turns everything quiet. I look down, and apparently I AM turned on. smooth move Stuart jr.

In a quiet panic, I hunch myself over a bit and cross my legs in hopes that he wont notice. Is he looking over here? I turn my head for a moment to see him looking casually forward. Nope. I think I'm fine. I don't think he's noticed.

However, I keep myself hunched over. Just because he doesn't notice NOW doesn't mean-

"Not turned on..." He interrupts my thoughts with a pondering. "Stuart little over there begs to differ."

"Sod off." I hiss as the embarrassment greets me. He turns over to look at me and begins to chuckle.

"Well don't look at me!" I scold. "You're only going to make it worse..."

"Fine, fine." He says, and turns his eyes back to the road. I look as far away from him as I can and mow over math problems and other gross things in my mind. Err... barbara Streisand? Not enough, not enough... Courtney love after surgery, Madonna... Sarah Jessica Parker!

Eventually, that last thought helps me out and I'm limp again. I hunch back upright and pretend like nothing ever happened.

"So..." Murdoc says slowly. "Is the bat back in the cave?"

"I'm not even answering that." I scowl at him as he chuckles cruelly.

"You know..." He brings back that same tone. "We could have just pulled over and-"

"Enough!" I shout. "Stop it, really! One more time Murdoc, I fucking dare you..."

He obeys and shuts up. Leaving things quiet for a moment... Until of course

"You think you're whining now, I could have given you something to whine _about._"

"Alright." I've lost it, and I'm done. "Pull over."

"Are you going to throw up again?"

"No, I'm LEAVING. I'll find my own ride, thanks."

"Not again you don't." He grumbles. What does he mean by-

***Click***

"What was that?" I ask, turning my head at the noise.

He's completely straight up. "I locked the doors."

My mouth nearly falls to the ground. "What, you think you can just... just hold me in here?!"

He nods normally as my eyes widen.

"What the fuck, man! Let me out!"

"You can't tell me what to do." He says. "It's my birthday."

"That's quite wonderful, now PULL THE HELL OVER!"

He sighs. "You can never just shut up and enjoy the ride, can you?"

"Not when it's with YOU, and there's nothing to enjoy."

"How do you know that?" He asks. "You know, I never thought the day would come that you were too negative. More so than me."

Close to accepting the fact that I'm not getting out of here, I cross my arms and start to listen a little.

"Just take us back to the stupid hotel." I mumble just loudly enough for him to hear me.

"2D my boy." He chuckles. "_This_ is our last night in _Seattle_. We might not ever see it again, and you want to spend it in a damned _hotel room?_ Tsk tsk. I think not."

I turn to him and raise an eyebrow. "What do you mean you _think not?_ You said we were just going back!"

"Yeah?" He lets his shoulders up in a shrug. "Well, I lied. I wanna go see something."

"What _something..."_

"A something, something." He talks back.

I don't even say anything. I knew I shouldn't have taken this stupid ride back to the stupid hotel. My instincts suck.

My hand's almost become glued to my head as I secretly plot ways to escape the car. Ways to get out of here. Not one becomes visible.

And While I ignore every inch of him, I think I've been observing him. The closer we get to this secret destination, the more uneasy he looks. Shifting around, tapping his fingers. I wonder if he's having a heart attack... well, we can only hope.

My hand makes a nasty unsticking noise, as I peel it from my face. I now realize I've just woken up now, or maybe a minute ago. It's funny how sometimes you don't even notice.

The sunlight tells me it's not there anymore, and night's taken over. I lazily flick my eyes to gaze outside my window. The city looks so dirty at night. Dirty and dark, but kind of comforting for some reason. Just knowing how dark and, maybe unsafe it is out there. And that I'm secure in here. But wait. No I'm not, Murdoc's in here.

I twist my neck to the clock, which reads 10:02.

"Murdoc." I say tiredly, and heatedly as I turn to him. "You know we have to leave seattle at six A.M tommorow, right?"

"Bollocks." He mumbles. "Like I'm getting up at six A.M."

"Where are we?" I ask. "How long have we been in the car for?"

"Couple hours."

"Hours?" I jolt up a bit and look at him like he's an idiot. Which he is...

"Yes, hours. Seattle's a big place... And besides, It's right there."

He points a skinny finger into the distance, where a mountain of rusty steam pipes piled around to make a sort of building sits before docks and water. Like a big brown, rusting castle, surrounded by deep green grass that sits under the navy sky.

And something tells me we've been in this area for a while now. Like he knew it was there, but just kept driving around hesitantly. As If he was nervous about coming here. He pulls up in an asphalty area, where he puts the car to a stop and, gets out without undoing the seatbelt he never put on. With the door still open, he looks over at me.

"Well than?" He looks like me like I'm supposed to go with him.

"You go ahead." I shoo him away with the tips of my fingers. "I'll stay here."

His thin mouth twists into a bored or disappointed frown.

"Just because you're a aggro-burnout doesn't mean you can't take five minutes to enjoy your last night in the needley city."

"Toss off, I'm not a burn out." I sneer.

"But you _do_ agree to being aggressive?"

"Never said that either." I mumble. For a moment I tip my chin towards the sky, and look out the windshield, gazing at the shapely mound of castle pipes.

"What's a tower of rusty spoons got that's so special anyways?" I whine.

His left eyebrow raises as he leans his head inside the car window.

"This tower of rusty spoons..." He begins, sounding almost offended. "Just happens so to be gass works park. And yeah, it's pretty damn rusty... But it's... It's..."

He finds it hard to come across reasons, so I come across them for him.

"Just your type of place?"

He nods slightly. "Yeah, you could say so."

"Good." I nod. "Great. Exactly why I'm not going. Go ahead, go have fun."

He nearly objects, but look's over his options and sighs with a shrug. "Alright. Have it your way. See you."

He pats the side of the car and turns away, Leaving me for shit in the car. Was it really that easy? Did I just win? Woah... I really thought I'd end up having to go. My head sinks nearly magnetically to my shoulder, and I begin to drift off.

"I should of course warn you, though." I nearly fly into the ceiling, as I'm greeted again by Murdoc's face at the window.

"Jesus." I give a sigh of relief.

"Oh don't be so relieved yet." He waves a finger. "I'd save your shock for when something _actually _dangerous shows up."

"You can just quit that." I scoff. "You're not going to scare me."

"Huh." He chuckles. "I wouldn't be so concerned about _Me _scaring you."

"Just go and get your fun over with!" I try to shoo him away again. His shoulders rise up in a shrug.

"Yeah, you're right. You'll probably be fine." He gets up to go, but turns back to the window again.

"I mean, the water IS all the way over there. Not like he could see you from all the way over there...Well... maybe."

I keep my arms crossed, but at the word _water_ something linked with my suspicion of the ocean peeks my curiosity. My eyes can't take them selves away from the lake waves in the distance. Sploshing dark, and slowly.

"Who's _he_?" I whip my head to murdoc.

"Oh no, no." He shakes his head slowly. "I've said too much already. Everyone know's talking about them is prone to bring them to shore..."

"Bring what to shore?" I ask nervously.

He bites his lip and gives out a tired sigh. "Wallkawhales."

Something in my stomach twists, and an invisible spider climbs the length of my spine.

"Wallka... Wallka whats?"

"Wallka whales." He says brightly. "Haven't you heard? Those developed creatures that lurk in seattle water. The ones with two hairy legs. Only they're not human... They're these gigantic sea mammals-"

"Okay, enough." I stop him shakily. "I've had enough, just go already!"

"Right." He agrees. "But one more thing... the worst part is_... They don't even stay in the water."_

By now, he's gone, but left fresh fears in my mind. Wallkawhales?... Oh come on Stuart, whales don't even live in lakes! What are you, stupid?

I shift nervously in my seat. Still... The water over there looks so taunting, and I can't help but look at it. Watching. It begins to ripple more. The water starts to crash.

But what if he's right? What if they are real, and I'm stuck in this stupid car while I get my insides eaten by crazed whales with legs! Well... Maybe I will join him... Who knows? Maybe it'll be fun.

I quickly hop out the car door, and look around my black surroundings. Jeez, it's dark. Ignoring the water as best I can, I walk against the cool night air, toward the rusty pipe tower.

But that water... I can't stop looking at it. Like it's just calling me as I walk.

***Tap Tap***

Who the hell? It sounds like... footsteps. God I need to calm down...

"Grab your toes." And I don't even have time to panic before a gruff voice grumbles at me and cups their hands over my mouth and eyes.

Every strain of panic in me reaches top-level, and screams out. Screams enough that I can't even scream, and I'm left wiggling in shock. Nearly going limp. I can't even see, or breathe through my mouth, so I pant heavily from my mouth. And everything is dark from my dampening eyes. I'm going to die, I'm sure of it.

But he let's go. I need to run, I need to get out of here. But I can't help turning around to look. To find Murdoc, nearly laughing his arse off.

"You're.. A DICK." I pant, as sweet relief finds me.

"And you're too easy." He laughs hysterically. "You didn't even scream or anything."

"I THOUGHT I WAS GOING TO DIE YOU SICK BASTARD!"

"Why? Did the wallkawhales find you?" This causes him to laugh even harder than he already is. He stops for a moment, sniffing in his last laugh.

"Are you.. are you crying?" He says awkwardly, with a bit of laugh at the beginning.

I quickly sleeve away the SMALL amount of tears, and I repeat small... Under my eyes. I thought I was about to get raped and left in a ditch, okay?

"No." I grumble.

"Ahh.. come on." He whines. "It was just a joke!"

"Fuck you."

"Wouldn't you like that." He chuckles, and begins to trot off towards the gass work pipes.

"I spose this means you're joining me?" He says, not even turning to look at me.

After a moment of my own huffyness, I set off after him with crossed arms.

"This had better be quick." I tell him, as I catch up.

"Is anything ever quick with me?"

"I can't tell if that was a dirty joke or not, but I'm assuming it was, so stop."

"You assume all you want." He says quietly, in the hush night. "Maybe I like the assuming."

He laughs but I don't, and when he realizes I'm not laughing... he stops.

"Im serious." I nearly whisper.

"Eh? Serious about what?"

"About..." I let out a stressful sigh. "About this needing to stop. I.. I can't do it. It's not fair to Russel and Noodle, or the rest of the fans... or to me for that matter."

"I'd think it'd be pretty fair to _you."_ He argues casually.

"Well it's not." I say. "And why you can't see that... Well... I dunno. And things... they just need to be normal again. This was fun while it lasted, I'll admit... But things-"

"What if this _Is _normal?" He stops me. "Just because I'm joking with you doesn't mean I'm about to make you bend over and bite a pillow, right where we're standing. As far as I'm concerned, things have ALWAYS been normal. Just with one little change, and now at your request that one little change has been graciously removed. So yeah, if you want to call it that, things are normal again."

That didn't give me much relief. It should have, but it didn't. It's what I should have, but it's not what I want...

"Than why don't you hate me?" I ask.

"Hm?"

"Why don't you hate me anymore."

"Well..." He says. "I never said I hated you in the first place."

"Yes you did. You've said it millions of times."

"Oh." He seems to remember. "So I have."

"So you have." I repeat him, and things are quiet until we reach the interior of the pipey building.

It's so big... So wide, but so cramped. Pipes running around every direction, sticking from the ceiling, the ground... Each one coated in different graffiti, and rust. Urban decoration.

And since this is technically outdoors, everything is dark. Only lit by the moon, and the broken electro lantern we'd found on the ground outside, that didn't end up being broken.

But as I was saying, things stay quiet throughout the walk around, until about twenty minutes later we get tired and find a pipe overlooking a big patch of grass (I didn't want to see the water).

After ten minutes of just sitting quietly, I bravely break the silence.

"I'm bored."

"You know, your ex-girlfriend Rachael?" He asks, in a total subject change.

Though I'm a little nervous to where this might be going, I nod. "Err.. yeah, what about her?"

"Wasn't it incredibly bothering that she had the same name as your mother?"

I shrug, and drift back to think about it. "I liked her a lot... so not really, no. She was a great gal, she was. You of course, had to ruin my life that year. Or what I thought was my life at the time."

"Shit.." He says. "I dunno if anything can really _ruin_ your life. You can colour it in with a mess of shitty, horrible looking colours, but then it's just a stupid looking picture. It's still there, just incredibly crappy."

I stare at him in slight awe. "That might be the deepest thing I think I've ever heard you said."

"There won't be any more." He scoffs gloomily. "So her name didn't bother you in the slightest?"

I shake my head for no.

"Not even in bed?"

I cock my head on this question. "Err.. yeah I take that back, it bothered me."

"Rachael!" He mimics me in a moany whine.. "I have a permission slip for you to sign, Rachael!"

I elbow him playfully. "Yeah, coming from doctor manwhore, 2005."

"I'm not _that bad..._If you think about it." He says. "I mean that woman I was with last night when we...er.. talked. I sent her out. I just didn't feel like it."

This shocks me. I begin to wonder if maybe it was because of me?

"Good for you."

That ends there, and I guess he decides to bring up a new topic.

"On the topic of your ex girlfriends.." He says, and I sink a little bit. This is a shaky subject. "Just a random note, but Paula might be one of the loosest women I've ever been with."

"Yeah." I scoff. "Don't think I don't know that. It's like she had all of SUBSPACE down there."

"Likely story." He says hushly. "But most likely she's just more overused than a public hand towel."

I nod sort of sadly, and dip my head down. Paula. I wonder what she might be doing? She seemed lovely at the time... But did she turn out to be? course not.

"Mate, she was disposable." Murdoc comforts me quietly, without doing anything but talking. "Besides its been years. She's probably resorted to selling herself like used jewelry."

"Still." I huff. "I find it hard to ever hear ghost train. Just knowing that the guitar in that song... It was all her."

"You'll be alright." He's trying to end this part of the conversation now, it sounds like. probably sick of hearing me complain.

Almost like I'm not controlling it, my head turns to his. That ruby like eye... It flickers under the moon and threatens to playback this last year, like a movie.

And is it bad that I almost wish It could? That I want to see it all? Remember that first time. That night noodle left. The thing's he'd said.

_"You'll be alright. As long as it's the two of us. What can go wrong?"_

That one is what sort of sticks to me. Just because of how much it defies itself. Everything went wrong, everything that could have happened badly went wrong. I grew feelings when I wasn't supposed to, and from than on everything crumbled to bits.

The only reason I just realized that I'm still staring at him like a lost dog, is because He looks back. But he doesn't get offended, or tell me to fuck off. He looks at me to for a moment, before turning back to himself and awkwardly coughing.

This isn't normal. This isn't something we would have done back during the first album. He would have caught me staring, and punched one of my eyes ALL the way out of my head _this _time. But he didn't. He just turned back to himself. That's what forces me to ask this next thing:

"Things are never going to be normal... are they?" I ask sadly.

He doesn't even look when answering. "Define normal."

"Having an average conversation without so much uncomfortable fluff."

He raises one shoulder in a half shrug. "I thought this was normal."

I glower an eye harmlessly. "You think this is normal?"

"Well..." He looks down, and than to me. "Maybe not normal. But something like it... Something..."

He searches for an answer in my face. Or he's just staring uncomfortably.

"Something what?" I ask. Hold on, he's getting in closer. Maybe I have a bug on my nose... Or just on my mouth, and he's trying to get it off with HIS MOUTH.

As I quietly panic in my head, he fits our lips together in a gentle, long kiss. I play with it, even though I'm freaking out on the inside. I open my eyes, and flick them from side to side.

Er, WHAT THE FUCK MURDOC? Did we not, TWENTY minutes ago talk about this? How it needs to stop? Even if it feels like it shouldn't...

But whatever, it has to! I push his chest away with one hand, and his face away with another. It detatches us.

"WHAT THE HELL?" I shout putting my hands up in defense. "IF YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST-"

But obviously, he thinks he _can_ just do whatever, because he takes control again and quiets me with his mouth to mine. But how the hell do I stop this when I can barely even control what I'm thinking? His tongue... I mean, how it just fills up my whole mouth, and threatens to tickle the beginning of my throat.

I can't stop him. Shit, I can't even stop myself. Already, I've got my hands in his greasy black hair and putting my mouth to work.

His fingers get to work to, creeping up through my shirt, and all the way up my back, with doing this he finds away to peel it off, and over my head. With my assistance in the sleeves of course.

After the shirt is tossed off somewhere, my back hits a cold pipe wall, and I'm pressed up to it. Hard and harshly, as his mouth plays in the same way. Hard and harshly. How the fuck am I supposed to give this up?

Than I remember something. I remember that I'm in love with him, and he's not in love with me. I remember that this will never be the way I want it. I can love him as much as he wants, but I'll always be nothing more than a band mate or friend.

And so I need out of this. I push him off once again, and this time he looks rather pissed.

"Fuck, what is it now?" He hisses, making for a go-back.

"I can't do this!" I shout. "I told you, I..."

I shake my head, and find my shirt on the floor, replacing it over my head. He still just looks at me like. And I can't make out if he's pissed, or shocked or what...

"I can't do this anymore." I repeat, looking deeply into him.

"But- Hey, wait a minute!" He complains. "We were doing fine there, why all of the sudden the change?!"

"I remembered something." I sigh, as I begin to scurry off quickly, but not fast enough.

"And what's that?"

I sigh, and begin to tell him something he already knows. "I don't know why I do, but I love you. I can't BE mates with benefits with you, it's not working!"

"Well- Well..." He fights loudly. "Maybe I have a higher level of appreciation for you than just mates too."

If I registered what he just said right... than... wait, what?

I turn around and give voice to my thoughts. "Wait... what?"

He taps his foot and looks around the building awkwardly. Like he regrets just saying that. "I said maybe... I.. have that one feeling too. That one word you use all the time."

"What are you talking about?"

"The word with the L." He starts to sound a bit nervous.

"Umm..." A lump hits my throat. "Love?"

After scrolling his eyes around a little bit, he looks back at me and nods slowly.

I could believe this, but it feels like a load of shit. I'd give anything to believe this, but I know he's just fucking with me.

So instead of rushing into his arms for a false hug, I glower my eyes at him.

"You've gone _Really low._ You know that?"

"Huh?"

"After ALL I've done for you." I hiss. "You think it's okay to just waltz up and joke about something like that with me?"

"Well, I'm-"

I interrupt him. "No, no let me finish! Litteraly JUST the other night you brushed me off like a dead fly, and YOU EXCPECT ME TO BELIEVE YOU'RE IN LOVE WITH ME?"

My rant would have gone on, but it didn't. He stops me with yet another push of his lips into mine, and I would have pushed him away... But this time is different. His hands hold my cheeks, and It's soft, and slow. Not rough, but passionate. The way you kiss someone you love.

Not able to control myself, my mouth plays back. When it's finally done, we stand there breathing, with our faces close.

"How long have you felt this way..." I ask quietly, finnally believing him.

"I've absolutely no idea." He whispers.

Suddenly it looks like what he's just said hits him, and a shocked look hits his face. He turns to walk away quickly. No! He can't just go!

"Wait!" I grab him by his hand and softly jerk him back. "Please stay."

He stays, but doesn't move. I speak up in the dark silence.

"What now?" He asks quietly.

"What made you..." I ask hushly. "Why did you..."

He understands my mixed words and turns to face me.

"You want the honest truth?" He sighs.

I chew the tip of my thumbnail and nod sheepishly.

"When I snuck through your window that night at the rehab center, I wasn't lying. What I said... I guess I mean it. And last night when you saw that woman at my door... All I saw was you. And when I went back in there, something happened for the first time in my life?"

"What's that?" I ask quietly.

He huffs out some air, and begins. "I turned down a one night stand for the first night in my life... Because all I had in my mind was that look on your face.. when you saw her at the door. And I literally could NOT get it off my mind."

"So that's what made you-"

He interrupts me.

"Made me... feel things for you? No, had been there for a while, it'd just taken a while for them to come into consideration."

All this time he's saying this I look at him like he puts the stars in the sky. Just so amazed... this mixture of happiness, and love, and somehow anger for him failing to tell me sooner.

"You were afraid of them." I add.

He cocks his head and shrugs lightly with his hands deep in his pockets. "I dunno if I'm as afraid of them as they are of me."

"Is this why you brought me here?" I ask under the wind.

"In sorts..."

And I'd love to think this means everything. I really really would. But I know exactly what this means. Murdoc will expect us both to forget this, and live with knowing what we know. Knowing what we could have, but never touching it.

"And I suppose..." I begin. "I suppose you'll want this to be quiet."

He nods, and that's all I needed to hear. This'll never be brought up again, and we'll both live on with deep regret that sinks us into the ground. Probably just me.

"I'll be in the car than." I say flatly, as my heart sinks itself.

"I was thinking..." He says loudly in the silence.

"Yeah, what were you thinking." I reply, still flat as ever.

"That.." He begins. "We could try."

I raise an eyebrow, as a mental flag raises. I turn around.

"Try what?"

"Something..." He sighs, and seems to build up enough courage. "Something more."

Something... more?

"What does that mean?"

"More than mates.." He explains. "And more than mates with benefits."

My stomach starts to quiver as my eyes widen. "Like... a relationship? Together?"

"Not EXACTLY like a relationship..." He says. "I get you, you get me... we don't really...get anyone else."

He has trouble on that last part, since it implies it not sleeping with every woman who crosses his path.

In this moment of everything I've wanted, I shake. "...You'd do that for me?"

"Not just for you... I guess I'd get something out of it to, because.."

"Go on..."

"Well I've been to hell and back." He sighs. "And I've been thinking of settling in a state of normality."

"Doesn't have to be normality." I laugh lightly. "As long you're here."

He silently finds his way over to me. A bit of a shock goes through me when his arm twists around my side, and stays there as we slowly stroll out, into the empty dark. Once we hit the outside area, he lets go just in case someone might be here that we can't see.

But I can still feel where his hand was. And this all... It's all so wonderful. And I can't believe it.

Our feet tread the hard ground almost at the same time, making patting noises as we walk.

"This will of course be kept between us, you know." He says, bringing back that familiar gruff tone. "There'll be no calling your mother or anything like that."

"Seeing as how I'm not a woman, that'll be fine." I agree.

"And I'm still no homosexual or anything." He protests. "You're more womanly than anything, so it doesn't count."

Though a bit offended, I nod. "Got it."

He brings up one more thing "And, and don't go around telling me to remember anniversaries"

"Muds." I laugh. "It's fine. I think you're forgetting It's me you're talking to. Besides, It's not like this is any different. It's like the same thing we've had going, except without the constant fighting, and you calling me names."

"Guess you're right." He nods. "This really isn't that big of a deal..."

After a moment, I speak up again. "Hey Murdoc?"

"Hm?"

"Thank you.." I say slowly.

"Don't mention it." He says. "No seriously, don't mention it or I'll"

"You'll kick my Kiwi's in, I know I know. I've heard it before."

He seems to think it over. "Well maybe not anything that hostile. I guess I'm not allowed to do stuff like that anymore?"

"nope." I shake my head.

And even now as we walk back to the car, nothing has changed. I'm still 2D, Murdoc is still Murdoc, and the world didn't go kaboom. Here we are, and everything is okay. I don't know if I can say so for the future, but for now I'll keep my fingers crossed and hope he keeps his crossed to.

The man I can call mine. And his name is Murdoc Niccals.

**NOTE!: Think it's over? Think everything is okay for 2d now? Not by a long shot. When I said the whole story, I meant THE WHOLE STORY. So stay tuned, cause I've got plenty left to do INCLUDING plastic beach, and do ya thing.**


	30. 30: Eyes on The Nightclouds

**Chapter 30: Eyes On The Nightclouds **

**Note: Thank you all so much! Oh my god when I get your good reviews I'm just like: **_**Oh you guyss**_** :) Really, you're all amazing and thank you so much for helping me build this up to what it is today! PS: Keeping Murdoc in charachter was quite a pill in this one :P **

When I was younger, and other children would tell me things in whispers through their cupped mouths, others would scrunch their faces and sneer:

_"Secrets are for People that have something to hide."_

Twenty years later here I am in the same place I was than: Scrambling madly, glueing lies together to keep my secrets tucked away safely inside my head. Or OUR heads for that matter, because obviously Murdoc has this same problem... But it's funny.

It's funny, because he has no problem keeping the truth about us away from the world. Not that I do, but it's just that he seems to find it a whole lot easier than I've found it. And belive me, keeping this relationship behind a wall hasn't been hopscotch.

And in fact since we've gotten back from the demon detour, every day at twelve o'clock noon we're to meet in his room, just to plan how we'll keep this sealed off for another day. And we haven't even planned it. It just seems that every day I find myself there around that time, working to keep things coy.

And now just happens to be twelve o' three. And now it just happens that I've woke up in this bed anyways, I'm here anyways.

I sit latching my belt buckle back up, as he smokes an after-sex cigarette. If you can't tell what just happened...

"You kept the door locked, right?" I ask, sort of nervously.

"No." He says sarcastically. "I left it open as an invitation for the world to hop inside and watch."

"No, seriously." I argue.

"Yes." He sighs tolerably. "I kept the door locked, don't worry your pretty little head."

He pats the top of my head gently, only making me more comfortable and wanting to jump back into bed and just lye there. So I do. I pull my shirt on, and heave backward onto the bed with a groan. Maybe if I just close my eyes for a second...

"Listen, I'd love for you to get comfortable." He says. "But we both have important shit to do, and If you know what I mean, I don't want to have to wake your arse up the way I had to this morning. ."

"Ofcourse you do." I laugh, and push his shoulder teasingly.

He shrugs, and takes a drag. "Okay, so maybe I do. But that doesn't matter. Though this is rather tempting, I've important tasks to manage."

Questioning these tasks that are apparently more important than me, I cock my head.

"Tasks?" I scratch my head and raise an eyebrow. "What tasks?"

"Important ones." He shrugs, and ruffles my hair again. "Don't look so worried, everythings fine. Now don't you have somewhere to be with miss Jessica Hollie Van-esther?"

I glower my eyes at the name Jessica Hollie Van-esther, A.K.A my fake girlfriend, who just so happens to be one of the stupidest birds on the planet. Sure, she's gorgeous. These short tussly dirty blonde curls, cinnamon freckles that frame a delicate nose, and big hazely eyes. Not to mention she's bout as thin as a flower stem.

But just because Jessica Hollie has a pretty head, doesn't mean she's got anything to fill it.

"Jessica Hollie Van esther." I grumble. "To hell with her. Why do I need a fake girlfriend anyways?"

"I've already explained you this a few dozen times." He sighs. "It adds to the illusion that you're not... You know... Whatever, and anyways you've already worked out the deal with her. It's not like you're ACTUALLY dating. You know you're not, SHE knows you're not. It's settled."

"She just wants me for the fame." I pout. "Stardom leaching little twit."

"Someone's woke up on the wrong side of the bed." He teases.

"I woke up on _you."_

_"_Touche." He mutters, turning back to drag me up by the wrist. Through much hesitation and wanting to lay back down, I peel myself up and we both stand before the bedroom door.

"Ready than?" I ask.

"Never more so." He drops his cigarette to the ground and twists the ash into the carpet, than trying to open the door and enter the day.

I pull him back by the wrist and lay my lips into his for one more silent kiss, to last the day. He accepts it, but pulls back in a second and shakes his head.

"You really are a fruit. Whatever. I'll accept it _for now_."

We face the door way, and another day of lies faces us. One I don't want to be ready for.

I turn to him and begin to whine. "Can't we just skip this whole day and sleep in?"

He shakes his head without looking to me. "Russ and Noodle'll grow suspicious."

I bow my head tiredly, and his hand begins to make circles on my back, rubbing gently.

" Tell you what... meet me at the rooftop around nine, and we can do what you want when we've both gotten home... well, as long as-"

"As long as its not super gay." I nod and roll my eyes, tracing his words. "I know, I know."

"Right. Good." He nods. "Because-"

"Because you're not gay, cause I don't really classify as a man in your standards."

"Learning more every day, arent you?" He says brightly.

I nod and realize that if I'm ever going to get through this day and get home, I have to actually _get through _this day. That means getting out the front door.

"nine o'clock?" I ask, just to make sure.

"Nine o'clock." He repeats me, and heads out his door. I follow, and once we reach the front where Russ and noodle are, the acting begins.

"You're a fucking douche." I sneer. Fake fighting has become incredibly easy.

"I'd call you one back." He hisses. "But I'd hate to compare you to something that's been that close to a woman's vagina."

Oh that one was kind of harsh, even if it was fake.

"Here we go again." Russ sighs and holds his head as he catches drift of our (fake) fighting. I almost want to laugh.

"Let them work this." Noodle shakes her head. "Sometimes disposing of bitter energy is the only way to become calm."

"He's the only one radiating... bitter.. fluids or whatever you said!" I bark, but my words come out a little thats-what-she-said-ish. Murdoc sneaks in a wink.

"I'm off to be with Jessica Hollie." I sigh, though I want anything else. I make for the elevator.

"Oh, so you just HAD to take the same exit I was going to, did you?" Murdoc growls.

"Screw you." I snap, and we both make it to safety,into the empty elevator. The door closes with a bloop.

"Already did." He snickers, and our hands silently find their way to eachother and join lightly.

And elevator takes us away. Off to whatever today holds.

Do women have a shut up button? I mean not _all _women, don't get me wrong I'm not an arsehole. Just certain ones. And by certain ones, I mean Jessica Hollie Van-esther.

And if her non stop blabbering isn't enough, I've got a massive headache AND I'm driving. Me driving with a headache has proved not to work so well.

I drum my fingers idly on the steering wheel, as she goes on about something that I just now tune into.

"And so I went and tried to order the prime meridian steak, and you know what this man tells me? That it doesn't exist. OFCOURSE it exists."

"Bummer." I nod, tuning her out again. Looking into the light framed road. Wondering what Murdoc's doing right now. And what tasks he's doing? Dear lord I'm acting like a suspicious girlfriend. But I can't help but wonder?

"And so I asked if there was like a rare meridian or something, and he said their house steak was a T-boner, and he asked if I wanted it. What a perv, right?"

"You sure it wasn't a T-bone?" I ask

she lowers her head and considers this. "Oh. Maybe it was, I dunno. Either way."

Does she stop talking? Ofcourse not. She goes on for maybe fifteen minutes about her problems, and her life before I pull up in front of her apartment commons.

"And nobody asked for Cheryl's opinion, so I was like listen here bitch-"

"We're here." I interrupt her. Her head pulls up out of her own world as her eyes widen.

"Huh? Oh yeah, Okay. See you later than... _Boyfriend."_

"Yeah..." And as soon as that door closes I want to hightail it the fuck out of there. But the headache hammering into my brain begs me not to, so I take a deep breath and look to the car radio clock.

_8:04 PM_

Christ, have I really been with her since the afternoon? I spend more time with my fake girlfriend than with my real- uhh... I'm not quite sure what to call him, actually.

Speaking of him, it seems to be nearing nine o'clock. I should probably get going. But my pocket begins to buzz and spew that annoying ringtone about, threatening to get louder if I don't answer it.

Expecting it to be Russ, or manager Dave or someone like that, I pull it out to see a number I barely recognize. Just barely... Enough to know that I'll either be really thrilled, or really un-thrilled when I answer it.

For a few long seconds, I just gaze into the phone screen that lights up the dark car. Who's number is this? One way to find out. I thumb the answer button, and pull it up to my ear.

"Hello?" I greet the stranger.

"Oh good, I was afraid maybe you'd changed your number or something." The voice that answers me back belongs to a woman. And I don't waste a second trying to figure out which one. I already know.

"Rachel?" I ask quietly.

"Yes 2D, It's me." And it is Rachel. Not my mother Rachel, but Rachel Stevens. The ex-girlfriend I haven't spoken to in five or so years.

"Oh..." I mumble nervously. "Hello..."

A sigh sounds from her end of the line. "I bet you're wondering why I'm calling, aren't you?"

To take the heart you tore from my chest once and stomp it to the ground again? But I only _think _that.

"err... yeah. Seeing as how we didn't part on the greatest terms and all."

She takes another deep breath, and I can just picture her there. Fiddling with a strand of caramel blonde hair, biting the tips of her finger nails so gently like she used to.

"Well I've heard your new album."

"Have you?"

"You did quite well." she says a bit more brightly. "You and the rest of them. How are they?"

"Who?"

"Russel and Noodle... and the dick." When she says _The dick_, she must be referring to Murdoc.

Feeling that I sort of need to defend him, I speak up. "He's not really that bad anymore..."

"Well that's good." She says awkwardly. "So I heard you got yourself a girlfriend?"

I nod to myself. "Yeah..."

"What's her name again? I've seen it in tabloids, I just can't remember..."

"Jessica Hollie Van-esther..." I tell her, as a feeling of pride finds its way into me.

"Fancy..." She takes another deep breath, and speaks up again. "Am I allowed to be jealous?"

_Jealous?_ I raise an eyebrow. "Jealous? Don't you have a boyfriend already or something?"

"Well... Yeah." She says. "That doesn't mean I can't be jealous. Even If I don't have feelings for you anymore."

I sigh, as my mood just gets a couple of times worse. "Is this all you called to talk about?"

"No. I'm worried."

"Worried?" I ask. What's she worrying about me for? She's the one who dumped _me _anyways...

"Yes, worried. I saw you in the feel good inc. music video. You looked all pale and brittle. Are you doing okay?"

"Never better." And for once I'm not even lying. Things have actually been going quite well, compared to how they were a few months ago. Still, she doesn't seem so believe me.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." I sigh. "I'm doing fine."

Now after that we're silent. And I just want her to tell me goodbye, and never call again. Never write another song that I have to hear on the radio, never make it into the tabloids again... She Knows how much trouble I had with the breakup, why'd she have to call?

"I'm sorry if I upset you with this call..." Her voice becomes sad, and tired. Did I do that?

"Nah." I lie. "It's no trouble."

"Good... I should go."

"Alright." I nod.

"But 2D..." She digs the talking right back up.

"If you ever need to talk again..." she says. "This is my cell number. Don't hesitate if you need someone to talk to..."

"Thanks."

"No problem at all. Goodnight."

"Goodnight." She hangs up first, and I'm left in the silence of the dug up awkwardness of what used to be my relationship with Rachel. Why'd she have to do this? Why in the hell would she go and do this? I could have very well been fine with never talking to her again. And I will be fine. I won't need to call her, I might as well delete the number now.

But I don't. I'm tired, and I just want to get home and meet Murdoc on the rooftop. Bring _something _good out of this damned day. I start up the car, and with a headache still getting stronger in my head, I drive away.

Goodnight Jessica Hollie Van-Esther's house. Good night Rachel Steven's who couldn't just leave me alone. Goodnight streets of Essex. Goodnight, and goodbye for now.

**10:34 P.M, The Rooftop**

You shouldn't judge someone for being late when you're late for everything yourself. But you can always worry. There's always time to worry.

So what makes now different? I can worry all I want, even if it doesn't feel so great. Even if there's nothing to worry about.

Theres not enough stars in the sky tonight. I lie on my back and squint trying to look for them, and maybe count them. None, not even one. Only smog, or nightclouds. And a lot of them too.

_So many clouds..._

The word _cloud _just forced me to remember that day so many years ago, when I met that man in the hospital cafeteria. _So many clouds _He'd said to me. And that memory brought up meeting Murdoc for the second time. How I thought he was going to kill me. How scared I was, just being around him. The dirty brown car he'd picked me up in, the one I proceeded to crash less than a year ago.

How much he hated me. How much I wanted to be like him. So careless, so daring. But how I hated him at the same time. Hating him, while wanting to be his best friend at the exact same time. I smirk to myself thinking about it. If I could only see myself now...

But I keep my eyes on the nightclouds, and a twinge of worry tugs at my stomach. But hey, its Murdoc. He's probably late because he wants to be, and just because we're more than friends now doesn't mean I can start acting like a jealous woman. Not that I'd want to. Not that I'd... want..to.

"_You know, she really was retched looking." Its Murdoc's voice. Though I'm surprised, I don't look up, or answer._

"_And her tits were fake, I can tell you that right now." He sits down by me on the steps, under the grey sky._

_I laugh slightly. "How can you tell?"_

_He shrugs, and gets out a pack of cigarettes, lighting one up for himself, and to my surprise, tossing one onto my lap._

"_I can just tell."_

"_Thanks..." I mutter, lighting mine up._

_After a second, he talks again. _

"_And we can find a new lead guitarist, 2- dent."_

"_I know..."_

"_We'll just put an ad in the paper or something. She wasn't even that good with her music!_

_I bite my lip and sigh. "Apparently, neither am I."_

"_Nah, your pretty good Stuart. Not as great as me, but you'll do."_

_I change the subject._

"_If she was so bad looking ... why'd you do her?"_

"_I do everyone."_

"_Everyone?"_

_Well..." He rubs his chin with a still bloody hand. "Not EVERYONE. There are exceptions, like men and stuff."_

_I snicker. "Paula does everyone."_

_Murdoc laughs and hits my back in a perky way. _

"_That's a good boy ... and yes, she does. I'd get yourself tested if I were you."_

"_Yeah, you too..."_

_The two of us sit in the stillness of the grey landscape, saying nothing at all for a while. And everything seems alright._

"_Muds?" I ask._

"_What."_

"_Why are you-..? Why are you being so nice to me?"_

_He turns his head away from me, and faces the sky._

"_Let's just tell the rest of the world, and ourselves, that I'm not."_

The headache is all of the sudden out of sight and out of mind, as I pull myself up from the concrete, and out of a dream. A weird dream.

One of those dreams where you've been there before, and nothing is different. Everything is lined up and played out just like it was when it happened. It just repeats a memory you keep close to you. A good memory in this case, thankfully.

I dig my chunk of a phone out my pocket, and check the time:

_12:05 P.M_ It reads in bright letters that make me squint. Is it really after midnight? But he said nine... Maybe I should call?

But the stairtop door opens, and there he is. Looking tired as all hell, and not in much of a mood to be trifled with.

"Oh good, You're still up here." He slumps over to where I am. I rub my eyes, and stand up.

"Err yeah... Hey I don't mean to pry, But-"

"I know." He says wearily. "I'm late. business is business."

But still curiously, I pry at him anyways. "What sort of business makes you four hours late?"

"business that's none of _your _business." He snaps tiredly.

Sort of hurt, I raise an eyebrow and step back. He sighs and rubs his head, only to rest a hand on my shoulder.

"Listen I'm sorry. It's just been a long day, we all have steam we need to release."

Though I'd like to know what's _caused _his un-released steam or whatever, I don't ask and just nod silently like a good boy. He stretches his long arms to the night sky, and puts them back down.

"Well, I'm off to bed. See you." He just tries to walk off, scratching his back.

"Uhh." I stop him. "Hold on."

"Huh?" He turns his head back. "What is it?"

I cock my head in disappointment. "I thought you said... I dunno, we we're gonna do something or other."

"Right." He sighs, just now remembering. "Listen D, I'm sorry. It's late, I'm tired, I still have more tasks to tend to tomorrow. No one likes a grumpy Murdoc, now do they?"

"So you're just going off to bed?"

"Yep." He yawns. "Good night than. See you tomorrow."

As I turn back again to ask him something else, the door shuts, and I put my head down. More tasks?

I mean this is just great. I spend the whole day with that annoyance of a woman, and get nothing to make it better because he has _tasks _to do. Well whatever, I might as well be off to bed now too. I take my eyes away from the dry lands around Kong, and get moving.

Hold on, what's that? A little scrap of white post paper sticks out in the grey asphalt. My curiosity peeks, and I pick it up. But it's not blank.

In murdoc's scratchy handwriting, it reads: _J. Manson, 2:30, Abercorn Way_

Abercorn way? What's he doing all the way out in Abercorn way, that's like an hour away from here! And who's J. Manson? Maybe this is why he was late and acting so weird?

God stuart, you're really getting to yourself here. Calm down, go have a cup of tea or something. No time to worry now, you've had it earlier. That's enough worrying for tonight... No matter how much you worry anyways.

**NOTE: Thanks guys! And I wanna keep in tact with you all, so I've got a little question.**

**What's been your favorite part, or quote so far? Let me know! I love to hear what you all think :D**


	31. 31: The Snoopering Tuss

**Chapter 31: The Snoopering Tuss**

**Thank you for reading guys! Tell me what you think :)**

When the first thing I feel when I wake up isn't the warmth of his skin on mine, something in me sinks. As I slowly drag my tired self from beneath cold bed covers that beg me to stay, the idea pokes at me that I might have pushed too far last night.

Murdoc isn't the kind of person who likes to be asked serious questions, or any questions for that matter... and maybe me questioning him about where he was knocked it a little too far?

My thoughts continue to jabber on, while I dress myself blindly.

It's just the fact I guess, that he wasn't there. It's not that I mind it much, but he's usually here when I wake up. One way or another, he finds his way into wherever I'm sleeping, and invites himself in between the sheets. I never object.

But this morning I've woken up alone, and I can't help but wonder if he's angry at me for being suspicious.

At one point or another, after considering getting back into bed and throwing the day away, I find myself looking for Murdoc... developing somewhat of an apology as I walk. But I stop myself in my tracks.

Isn't it early in the morning? He'd never be awake when he doesn't have to be, and waking him up seems like the last thing I should do. Hold on, why am I awake when I don't have to be? Screw all this, I'm going back to bed.

So I trot off to sink back into the covers that I hope are still warm, but halfway there I'm stopped by distant talking in another hallway. It's murdoc, and he speaks in a hush whisper. The voice he uses to talk in my ear sometimes, but this is less sexy. Just serious.

"No I haven't told anyone, why would I tell someone?" He says.

Told what? Who is he talking to? I stalk a bit closer to the corner, and peek around to see him in the middle of the other hallway. He stands there with crossed arms and a sullen expression on his face.

"Listen, this is already planned out. Why talk about it anymore?"

What's planned out? Who?

He swaps his expression for a slight look of surprise. "Right now? You can't just wait any longer?"

Something twitches in my stomach. Suspicion.

He gives in with a sigh, to whoever this is on the phone. "Yeah, yeah alright fine. Abercorn Way than?"

Abercorn way? That was the place on the note! I can't hear anymore of this, I'm letting him know I'm here. I peek myself out, and act as though I'm just walking out.

"Murdoc?"

At once, he fiddles with the phone to hang it up and underhands it to the corner. He takes a relaxed position and scratches his head.

"Oh.. Er, hello. How long have you been there?"

"Just got here." I shrug, strolling over to him like nothings wrong. "Who was that you were talking to?"

He doesn't waste any time thinking of a reply.

"Dave." He answers abruptly. Almost nervously. "Dave. That was manager Dave. Wanted to know about... er, shoe sizes or something or other, How are you?"

He flips the subject rather quickly.

"Oh, I dunno." I answer. "Fine... I uh, actually... What are you doing up so early?"

"Jogging." He answers bleakly. "I was... jogging..."

"You jog?"

"Oh er... yeah! Loads of times. I love jogging."

"You hate excercise."

"Oh err..." He rubs his chin, and looks up. "I do don't I? No matter, must keep up with todays standards. Can't go around putting on extra weight, now can we?"

"Guess not... But uh, I wanted to talk to you..."

"actually" He interrupts. "Couldn't it wait? I was just about to-"

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry." I sigh. "About asking stupid things last night..."

He shakes his head. "Naw, it's fine... I mean, _I'm _sorry really... About skipping out on you, and all. I'll make it up to you though."

"You don't have to do that." I say, but that's a prettied up lie. _Of course_ he has to make it up to me.

"No no, I will. I mean, I have... important doing to tend to right now, but once I get back..."

That _is_ what you said last night isn't it? Course it was never a promise.

I nod slowly, and decide what to do next... Do I like... hug him goodbye or something? This whole relationship thing... I'm not used to it. This is all so new and awkward fitting, even when it does feel completely right.

He ends things though, so I don't have to. "Well, I should be getting gone than."

"I'll walk you off." I offer. Noodle and Russ would still be in bed, so it doesn't matter. We don't need to act for now. But we still do walk and talk in whispers, mild body contact, you know the drill.

My hand barely touches the tips of his fingers as we walk. He decides to pace things up as we tread by chatting.

"So what have you planned for today?"

I think this over for a moment, and sigh. "Actually nothing."

"No rendezvous with Jessica Hollie Van-whatever?"

"The world believes us enough. I think I deserve a day away from her."

"That you do, Tuss. That you do." He says.

We walk in a comfortable quiet for the rest of the time, driven by the fact that neither of us wants to ruin this. Though he'd never admit it, I know he wants this thing we've got going on to work just as much as I do.

And I look at him. I look at him, and I look at his hand that touches mine quietly, and softly. Just nearly grasping it, but not because I know he's scared. And I'm scared too.

"Tuss?" I ask all of the sudden. "Was that a nickname?"

"No." He grumbles. "Even if so, that's the closest thing you'll ever get."

"Boo-hoo."

"Well I hope you weren't expecting peach, or dear or anything like that."

"Oh, of course." I say sarcastically. "I was hoping for peach."

We laugh lightly, and the quiet decides it wants to seep in again. But that's okay, because I want to make a move.

I move my hand closer, so it's not just hovering by his. The pinkie finger on my right hand wraps around his middle finger, and I just keep it there. Waiting for him to brush it away,and cough he doesn't. He keeps it there, not doing anything but letting it be there. But I have to ruin the quiet, don't I?

"Where'd you say you were going?"

"To manage some tasks... elsewhere."

"Oh." I dip my head at the shallow response. I was sort of hoping for at least _where..._ Is it abercorn? And what about J. Manson whoever, is he meeting them? Because that paper... It just seemed perculiar. Like I should be worried.

"Who's J Manson?" The question falls out of me, and I don't have time to stuff it back in. It's out, and his finger de-latches from mine almost immediately.

His face... It all the sudden hardens to a seriousness as he turns to me. "Where did you learn that name."

It isn't a question when he speaks. More like an order.

"I-... Err..." I stutter, falling over my words.

"_No." _He says snotilly. "I haven't any Idea who _J. Manson_ is. I-"

He stops and looks at me. Almost like he's disappointed, and angry at the same time.

"I have to go." On this, he slumps off quickly and out of my vision. My mouth hangs slightly open as I raise an eyebrow.

Should I be worried? What the hell was that about, all I did was ask a question about J-... about J. Manson... Oh no... Oh this isn't good.

9:56 P.M

You know things have gone to shit when you're calling your ex girlfriend for advice. Ha! Good thing I'm not... Oh wait...

"It's about... Jessica Hollie." I speak into the phone slowly, and dress my situation up, using _Jessica Hollie_ instead of Murdoc, for obvious reasons.

"It would be." A sigh sounds from Rachel's end. "The woman's a twit, what'd she do, sleep with Murdoc? It was Murdoc wasn't it, she broke you guys up!"

Well she's got part of ir right... this situation _does _include Murdoc.

I shake my head. "We're not even broken up."

"Ohh..." she says. "Well than, what's up?"

"I just..." Saying what I need to becomes dificult. "When you date guys, and you won't tell them where they're going... What are you actually doing?"

Her answer seems to come easily. "Well, I'm usually honest in my relationships. Sneaking around is just shit, you know? But anyways, if I didn't tell Alex where I was going, maybe it'd just be embarrassing to say. Maybe she's gone to get Tampons or something, Stu."

Alex, I'm assuming is her new mate. Anyways, I don't think Murdoc would be out dicking around for _tampons_.

Accepting the fact that I can't really go any further with this, I sigh. "I guess so... But since this morning? For like nine hour"

"Well-" She interrupts me. "There is of course a chance that she's out scumming around... There's always that. Describe to me what happened, why don't you."

And so, I give her pretty much what happened with Murdoc, but replacing his name when needed.

"So... she was on the phone with this person? Saying those things, like how she was going to come see them? An she's been gone for that long?" She gives me a playback.

"Yeah."

"I'd worry."

"What?"

"Well what are you still here for, boy?" She shouts. "Get the hell out of that damned studio and find her! Give her what for! She's guffing you, go give her a piece of your mind!"

"But-" And she hangs up on me mid-word. Her advice was probably the best I'm going to get, but really? I'm supposed to just chase after him and be a total snoop?

Well, it's not like I'd have to let him know I'm there... I could just drop by and take a look? A quick look to drop by, and than I'll just drop right back over to Kong, knowing everything is okay... If in fact, it _is_.

What am I doing, what the _FUCK _am I doing?

Well, I'm clear out in Abercorn way to spy on my boyfriend, that's what I'm doing and why the hell did I just call him that? I guess I just thought it so it's not as bad...

But really, why am I doing this? I scan the streets nervously as I walk down Abercorn, looking for somewhere sketchy he might be. God damn it, the note said Aberncron way, not where it WAS in Abercorn way! I could be walking this street all day! What time is it anyway?

My eyes roll over my watch real quick. Eleven Twenty-three A.M. Russ and Noodle should be up by now. They'll be wondering where we are... Hell, even I'm wondering where we are! I haven't a clue where Murdoc might be, and as for where exactly I am? Somewhere in stupid Abercorn way...

My hope dies, and I sink to the greying sidewalk, my back sliding down a dirty brick wall.

"Shit." I sigh, scratching my head. What am I supposed to do now? So I took a bus all the way out here for nothing? I'm not even sure when the next transit gets back home. Do I call Rachel and tell her I failed out on this plan?

"Same gorilla guy! The Niccals fellow with the long tongue and shit."

I whip my head up at this and flip it around. Where did that come from, who said that? I listen into the streets, and find after a moment that its coming from a couple of chatting teenage girls.

"Just waltzing around here." The shorter, red headed one shakes her head at her tan friend that towers over her. "Looked rather busy though, and angry."

This

is my lead. I peel myself from the sidewalk, and make in approach to them as un-creepily as possible.

"Excuse me, Um hello." I greet them. The taller one gapes at me.

"Keelie, look! It's the other one!'

"I don't mean to intrude." I begin. "But i heard you saying you'd seen my friend?"

"Mordoc?" The apparent Keelie asks.

"Murdoc, yeah." I correct her.

She nods. "Yeah, I'd seen him walking around the storage area by Salty Jack's."

That's all I needed. With out much of a goodbye, I toss them a thank-you, and navigate to Salty Jack's, a pub I'd circled a few times. Now why in the hell didn't I check there?

Here it is. It stands short, tall, and greasy smelling. But I don't need to actually go into the _pub_. I need to get into the storage. And behind said greasy pub, there's the storage building. Small, cramped, and surrounded by thick dark, with only a speck of light that is a window. What did I expect in a practically back alley'd storage room?

Deep breaths... Deep breaths. I can do this. What am I scared of? Oh I know _exactly _what I'm scared of. Finding out what he's been doing... I'm nearly being held to the ground, but I drag myself forward anyways. I stand before the speck of light that's turned into a square of light.

Everything in me jumps around and tells me not to look. I could just leave now. Go back, and pretend that everything is fine. It _could _be fine, I'm just assuming the very worst like I always do. But I look anyway. I peek my eyes through the square of dirty light, and sure enough.

Murdoc. Sitting at a cramped little table, surrounded by storage boxes... And he looks so stressed. He rubs his forehead, and hunches over the table. Did I do that? Am I the reason?

He's not alone. A man with small tired beads for eyes and a dirty mechanic shirt scratches his balding grey head, and rests a spidery hand on Murdoc's shoulder. It seems to make him more uncomfortable. I don't know what I think, but I'm confused and pissed off and everything at the same time. A man? AN OLD MAN? If he... Is he?

But this rage, this anger, whatever is is, it drives me away from the window, and to the storage door where I find out the lock on the handle is broken...

I push the thin door open, and it rickets against the wall. They both whip their heads to me, and apparently I'm a ghost or something... Murdocs eyes burn into me, and send me messages. Messages such as _WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE._

The man, who I'm assuming is Manson (I was prepared for a busty woman)... well, his reaction doesn't differ much except he looks a lot angrier. His wild brows seem to overlap his eyes as his teeth grit.

I'm the first to speak.

"Who is this?" I say shakily.

Manson turns his head to Murdoc and waves his arms mildly. "What the fuck is he doing here?!"

"I was about to ask the same thing." Murdoc says, his eyes rocking between me and Manson.

"Murdoc-" I begin. He doesn't let me finish.

"You need to leave." Murdoc says quietly, but hovering over anger. "Now."

I shake my head no. "I'm not leaving, now would you be so kind as to introduce me to your friend?"

"GET HIM THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!" Manson shouts hotly, and I can nearly smell the whiskey floating in his breath.

Murdoc quickly escapes his chair and kicks it back, heading for me.

"I'll be back." He turns to Manson as he pushes us out and ends the light with the slam of a door.

I expect us to stop there, but he just pushes me farther behind the building as I rant.

"Who was that?!" I simmer. "Are you gonna fucking tell me who that was?"

Still, no answer as i'm forced deeper behind the building into an arse-crack alley way that smells like one too.

"ANSWER M-"

His dry hand clasps my mouth soft enough, just to stop me from talking.

"How. the _fuck _did you get here." He hisses.

"Bus." I scoff as I tear his hand from my mouth. "Now tell me! Why are you sneaking around with... with... WEIRD CRACK HOBOS!"

"How did you find me..."

"You dropped a paper, dumb arse." I sneer. "J. Manson, Abercorn way. Some young girl told me you came back here."

His brow raises as he holds up a finger. "Hold on a moment... You came all the way out to Abercorn and went on a hunt for me... because?"

He waits for me to answer. My own shame dyes my cheeks a shade of red.

"Because?" He repeats. "You thought I was sneaking around?"

I shrug and sink my head. "I dunno."

"Did you even see that man?" He sighs. "You think Id-"

"Than what were you doing!" I shout. "If you'd have just told me I wouldn't have given a shit, but you... you... YOU'RE A-"

In a quick rush of whatever he's feeling, he takes my cheeks with his hand and pulls my mouth in by his. I don't even get time to be angry. It's freezing outside, but everything is all warm now. I can't tell if its body heat or what...

He pulls away, but keeps his hands on my face. "Why would I cheat on you with some putrid old hippy... Why would I cheat on you at all?"

That last thing made me even warmer. It's just so something he'd never say... Ever.

My bottom lip curls into my teeth. "Umm..."

"You're ridiculous."

"I know." I start to smile, but then I remember why I'm here. I still have things to figure out.

"Why though?" I whine. He takes his hands from my face. "Why are you here with this whoever, and why couldn't you just tell me the truth?"

He turns away for a moment. "Theres... some things you just don't understand. But I can tell you, that it doesn't affect you in any way, and everything is going to be fine, okay?"

At this, I sink a little and lower my head.

He breathes out, and touches my face gently. "Look, It's just business, okay? business I'm not supposed to be chatting on about. You understand, don't you?"

"... I guess so." I answer after a moment, no matter how much I'd like to know.

"Just... stay safe, alright?" I tell him.

"When am I ever safe?"

"Good point." I mumble.

He nods. "Good boy. I should be getting back there, then."

"But-" I whine. "You've been gone all day!"

"business is business." He says, yet again.

"You always say that." I grumble, as a some what of a plan erupts in my head. "But... sex is sex, right?"

He looks up as if to think, and than back to me. "My car is around the corner. I'm sure Mr. Manson might not mind if I..." His tone drops, and gets deeper and sexier. "Drove off for a bit..."

"Sure he wouldn't..." I agree. Well, this should be an interesting enough night.

**TO BE CONTINUED:**

**Note: Thanks guys! Also, if you've read rise of the ogre, you know just who J. Manson is, and what the story is. Of course, I've had to twist things for quite obvious reasons...**

**But anyways, favorite, follow all those things please :)**

**Tell me what you think :D**


	32. 32:Geisha Box and the Dying Sun

**Chapter 32: Geisha Box and the Dying Sun**

*OKAY, THIS IS INNAPRO-PRO LIKE RIGHT OFF THE BAT BY REQUEST FOR MORE LEMONS. S'BOUT TO GET REAALL NASTY. I just want to warn you all, blarghh :P*

I still look back to that first night sometimes... That night when everything of being normal was dropped and broken, not to be picked up and fixed. That first night in Kong, when Noodle was off for inspiration, and Russ hadn't arived yet. We just let evertything go...

Neither of us gave a shit though... It was just us, and no one else but the nervousness in the air. Everything was so serious, and shakey. Every movement, every touch was doused with insecurity.

Now though, things are so much different. A few minutes ago, we've pulled the car into an empty feildy area near the woods, even though I'd told him we might get hacked up by serial killers. He just laughed at that.

the There isn't nearly as much nerve in the air as that first night, and all insecurity was left a long time ago. He lyes over me, and I look up into him. Secretly pausing things.

I shift a bit in the car seat, as I notice something in his eyes. Not litteraly though, I just mean... There's something there that he's not good at hiding. A look. A look that gives me the feeling that he really wants to be here right now. I know I do.

"What are you looking at?" He asks quietly.

I shrug under him. "Dunno. You, I guess."

"I guess I am fun to look at." He boasts. I laugh quietly, because It's same old Murdoc. He's no more cheesey, or tender acting. And I really do like that, how he can just stay the same after all of this.

"Then again, you're not so bad yourself..." He whispers, and picks things up again by making for my neck. That's the spot he likes best, I think.

His mouth finds its way to a spot on the side of my neck and begins to work like a vaccum. That's a weird thing to describe it as, I know, but that's what it feels like. But in a good way.

I still though, always find myself imobile and awkaward. What am I supposed to do? I can't get _my _mouth anywhere.

After a moment, I decide I want to participate in _some _way, and I pull his head away and bring his mouth to mine, with my hands to his face. This kiss starts off soft, but I put my tongue through his lips to be the first to act this time.

Sex, and foreplay is different when you're in love. It's hardly as quick, and formal. Same thing goes with kissing. There's more of it, I guess. Instead of just here and there, it's before, during, after, and wherever else you can fit it in.

But even though it's for love, dosen't mean it's not wild as fuck.

I mean, here we are and he's like an animal at my mouth. Like there's something at the back of my mouth he can only get with his tongue, and just thinking about it while doing this gets me closer and closer... And it all melts into me, rendering me hot and bothered.

"Tell me something." I whisper, detatching our mouths.

"Like what?" He speaks back, just as quiet and coy.

"Something." I laugh slightly.

"Alright you kink." He chuckles, and frys his eyes into mine. I can nearly feel the heat.

"Whenever we perform _punk..."_ His voice is soft, but gritty. I watch him. Waiting. "That little noise you make in the begining. That growl, whatever that is... It makes you sound like a deranged, aroused hyena."

I cock my head, but he finishes his sentence by leaning in closer, and speaking quieter. "And I find it incredibly _sexy_."

The gruff little tone he used on that last word succeeds in making my forehead clam up a little bit more. He goes back to my neck, but this time in a rough love-bite, stinging but somehow feeling amazing as he digs in softly.

And he plays with my fingers. I haven't the slightest idea why, but it fucking _turns me on._ He twiddles my sweat dampened fingers with his, as the biting gets more intense, needling and gnashing softly into my neck. And than harder...

"Owch!" I complain, as he seems to stop for my own sake. "Your teeth hurt."

He removes his mouth and raises an eyebrow to me, still bending my fingers around.

"I could do worse with them." The corners of his mouth rise higher, and give him a devilish smile. He moves his gaze down to my fingers, and bends them farther backward, than forward again, just fooling about with them.

"Piano fingers." He mutters. "Wonder what else these things can do besides tickle the ivories, eh?"

"Maybe you'll have to find out." I snicker, glowering my eyelids in hopes of maybe being sexy.

"Well if your fingers can do things..." He takes his hands to my mouth, and toys about with my lips, moving them around like dough or something moveable.

"Than what does this do?"

"Maybe a bit more than my fingers can do?"

He takes his hands away and hardens our stare. "Oh really?"

Oddly enough, something from a few days ago pops into my head "Did I tell you I got stopped by a preist the other day?"

"Did you?" He peers harder into me, as almost all body contact is stopped for a moment. Dang body contact, get back here!

"Yeah." I laugh, as he focuses into my eyes and toys with a strand of my hair. "He said he could sense the evil inside me."

"Well..." He says slowly and moves to mutter into my ear. "You're about to have alot more evil inside you."

That's what gets me. Readies my shaft, if you will. Stretches and raises itself out, like It always does, when he whispers things to me like that. And now, I think I'm ready to participate a little more. If you know what I mean... I sit up quickly, and surprise him by pushing him softly to the other side of the car.

"Well." He chuckles seductivley. "Someone's anxious."

"Don't act like you're not." I grin, and get to delatching his scuffed silver belt buckle with my dampened hands. The buckle becomes loose, and slides open as I clear the belt peices out of the way quickly, and slide his zipper undone to reveal a famous pair of red underoos. However, I slide the pants down below his waist, along with the underwear. There it is. Sitting there ready for me,The twig and berries, but oh so much more than that. And still bigger than mine god damn it. I mean, I don't know if I think it might not be at some points... but.

Apparently my thinking has left me stalled and blank faced.

Murdoc interupts me. "Yes, I know it's rather lovely isn't it, but if you're going to just marvel at it-"

I don't even reply to this. I just gently pick it up with my fingers, and slide the whole god damned thing through my lips, and let it settle in there while i put together what I'm supposed to do. Wow I'm terrible at description, but that's how it feels.

"Well than..." He snickers.

Again, with using the word _Vaccumming_ as a description. But that's pretty much what I'm doing, to his... Huh, I still can't bring myself to use the word penis. Gah! He sounds rather pleased though, the sorts of chuckles and grunts he's giving off.

I really wonder how I'm doing at this. I mean, It's not like I have people to ask about sucking cocks. So still, I try to improve. It's only like half into my mouth, so I just slide it a little farther in while keeping grip. And as fate should have it, he's far enough into my throat that I start to gag on the tip of it.

Still even with me being unprofessional at this, I shrink my mouth around it as best I can and just suck, or blow or however you want to describe it. Pushing it forward and back, forward and back, hoping to send him some sort of pleasure. And it tastes... almost like... is that cognac? And shoe rubber? And sweat... Yeah, thats it.

But just as I'm sort of getting the hang of this, He de-roots me from my spot by pulling my collar up, Murdoc jr. being pulled from my mouth.

"What is it?" I ask softly.

"Not just yet." He leans into my ear,and whispers softly. "We've got alot farther to go."

I nod, and bite my lip. Knowing what this means. He gets to work again, tugging my pants off as I peel the shirt that sticks to my sweat dampened back off. I toss it aside carelessly.

Quickly though, all the clothes are gone, and he's rummaging around the car floor as I sit blankly waiting.

"It's cold in here." I mumble, just to change the silence.

"If you're trying to bring up an excuse for shrinkage, it's not working."

"Sod off." I laugh.

"Only kidding-ah, here it is!" He pulls up a bottle of clear lubricant from the depths of the car floor, only for his phone to poke mercilessly at our ears. His ringtone sounds.

"Uhh." He turns to me and gives me a sorry look, as if to ask for permission. I nod, and give him the okay. He probably would have answered it anyways...

He flips his phone open and thumbs the green button. "Yeah, what is it? I'm very busy..."

Some gruff, angry voice scratches back at him through the phone line. His expression goes a little more bothered.

"What? Listen, can't it wait till tommorow? _Right _fucking now?...Shit. No, don't get drastic."

Drastic? I cock my head at this.

"No, YOU listen here.." He goes on, but the dick on the other end of the phone line tackles back.

He sighs, and rubs the back of his head. "Fine, whatever I'll be there. Fuck."

He slams the phone closed stressfully, and gets to pulling his underwear back over his legs.

"Wait... What are you doing?" I ask with a grain of hurt in my voice.

"Gotta go... Sorry."

My mouth half drops open. "You mean to tell me, that I just gave you head for nothing in return? You're just leaving?"

He shrugs, and makes with the dressing. By now he's got his pants buckled up. How's he so fast at that?

"S'not like I'm just leaving you here... You've got taxi money, don't you?"

"What's this fellow want from you anyways?" I complain. "Cant you just tell me?"

"I...err " He struggles with his words, before brushing them away in a deep breath. He turns to me and lifts his hand to my face, stroking my cheek softly with his thumb. "It'll be nothing, I swear! It's just buisness, like I said, and it's got nothing of an effect on you. You'll be fine."

I still dip my head a bit in dissapointment.

"You believe me, don't you?" He asks quietly.

I twist my mouth up, and nod. "Yeah, okay."

"Good." He mutters close to my ear, moving in to leave small kisses at the rim of it. "Now as much as I hate to say it, go on and dressed."

Though not wanting to, I do as he says and pull my clothes on peice by peice, until eventually I'm ready to go in the passangers seat. And _still_ hard, might I add. Pff, Just leave me hanging like this why don't you Murdoc? Yeah, whatever, but I'm breaking into your porn stash when I get back, and I'm _not _returning any of it.

After a seemingly long car ride, that I now find out has only been a few minutes, we find our way back to the pub, and the little store room.

Than he just turns over to me, looking at me like to say _Okay, now get the fuck out._

"Alright." I grumble grumpily. I scoot to get out the car. "I'm going, I'm going."

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, grabbing ahold of the back of my hair and tugging me back for a moment. "Get back here, you."

On the end of the word _you_, he roughly takes my lips in his and passionatley signals a goodbye for the night. Hold on, he remembers what was in my mouth not two minutes ago, right? After a moment, he pulls off, and turns away, but I'm left wallowing in his eyes. He always leaves me in his eyes. Watching. Why do good nights always end? Life. Grah.

That's the most of a goodbye we have, and I hop out the car, and I don't look back.

"Ill er... I'll find you." He calls as we take our seperate directions. I turn back, and nod at him.

I'll find you... I mean, all that means is that we'll probably just meet up when he gets back... But it sounds weird, like it means more than it does. But it really doesn't. It never does.

A few days later:

El manana being a music video that only features Noodle, I don't need to work today. Well still the rest of us have to show up to filming for support or what not, but that's alright. This means I can just loaf around at the back tables or dressing rooms or whatever. No camera time for me today!

There is one problem though, about being at the back tables or in the dressing rooms... The fact that the actual set will be hundreds of feet above my blue head, into the clouds. Another music video, taking place on the floating island.

The island that hasn't yet set off. A chunk of land dug up from the earth and prettied up by its very own windmill, sits supported by wood settled on concrete.

And on the narrow tipped edge of the dug up ground, sits noodle, kissed by the dying sun. She fiddles her little fingers on sharp strings, and just barely I can hear the soft tune. I raise my hand up to her, and wave it back and forth a few times. She catches my movement, and spares her hand to wave back for a moment.

I turn to leave, but she gives me the _Hold on one minute_ signall with her hands. I wait for her to remove herself from the docked island, and spider herself down a hang ladder. We make our way to eachother, and something becomes noticable in her hands as she makes her way past vast camera crew, lunch tables, and other film type things.

A little brown square glitters off the edge of the sun, as we've nearly met up. Eventually, we've walked our way across the long distance and she gives me a smile smothered by innocent exitment.

"Hey love." I greet her, taking my eyes down to that little box, that now makes itself out to be some sort of chest, or buckle box with faded little chinese or japanese looking painted birds and flowers on it.

"Whats that?" I ask.

"Geisha box." She rubs the shiny yet faded surface of it with short thumbs. "I was going to get it fixed before the music video, maybe. One of its legs is chipped off."

She gestures with one finger, to a little knub-stub of where a holding leg used to be. I nod.

"Time is a factor today, and I don't have any spare to get it fixed." she nods. "I was wondering if you might hold onto it for me while the video is being shot. I'll have it looked at afterwards."

I nod. "Yeah, alright that'll be fine." She beams like the little sun stroke she is, and holds it up to me. I take it carefully in my clutzy hands.

"Thank you much. I should be off, see you afterwards!" She bids me a goodbye, and I wave her off as she sets away for the island.

Now than... Onto mission two. Where might Murdoc be? Haven't seen him much today... He was off late into last night, and I haven't seen him yet today. Where might he be? Well no need to be the worried partner type, but I might as well call him up. I dig out my cell and thumb his number in, pulling the blocky object up to my ear.

With a few ring dial tones, he picks up the phone. All that answers though, is some fuzzy staticy noise, some grundge-voice chattering, and... what is that, a helicopter?

"Hello?" I ask the noises "Muds?"But some voice digs in.. Murdoc's voice?

"Alright than, are the copters ready?"

He grumbles.

A couple other voices yes at him.

"Good. And amunition?"

They only agree again.

"Check. Target should be terminated than. Copters will be in the sky within a few minutes, and all should be well."

Copters? Like as in helicopters? Well what's he going on about helicopters for? Does he even realize I'm here? Ah well, may as well hang up. I accept the fact that he doesn't hear a word I'm saying, and hang up, shoving the phone deep into my jean pocket.

Than I take my eyes back to that island, that seems to pose in front of the painted sky. Well it isn't painted, but it looks that way... With the sun nearly ready to set. And it only makes me wonder where Murdoc is, and hope he gets back soon enough... Soon enough.

Anyone who lives and breathes and eats I think, has imagined or fantasized about watching something from the rooftops. Either that, or they've already done it. I am one of those.

One of the people who watches things from rooftops, but never touch them as they go. Like now, watching a little island in the sky peek higher and higher into pink clouds. Sometimes, if you've got a bit of luck on your side, you can watch things from rooftops with someone you care about.

I'm lucky enough to watch the sky with Murdoc, whom I've met up with on a building rooftop away from the video site where everyone else is. He seems to keep his eyes low, watching the ground.

But I watch the sky, and I watch for noodle. I have to strain my neck to see her though, since we're so far away from where the crew and launch site is. I glower my eyes, and hope I might see her waving back. But she's too far off, and I'll see her in a few hours or so, so no harm done.

In my pale piano hands, I clutch Noodle's geisha box, the one with the fading birds and flowers. I twist the little silvery knob on the side, and find out it plays a little trinkety tune. Very japanese sounding. Murdoc catches the sound, and says the first words he's said to me since we've gotten here.

"What's that thing?" He grumbles. Must be tired, or something.

"A geisha box." I shrug. I don't even explain the rest. After my words, he stays quiet as he has been this whole time. What, one question and he's done?

"Well you haven't spoken once besides that last question." I try to drag the talking out.

He shifts his vision to the streets below us, the street that hosts busy people and town dwellers walking about.

"It's funny..." He says softly. "Those people down there will never know a thing. As long as we stray away from body contact, and keep our voices low, we're normal. Nothing at all going on with us. As long as we're hush, we could recite love poems to eachother and all they would know is the contents of their dinner."

I nod. "Yeah, that would be the point of being descrete, mate."

He coughs quickly. "Not that we would be reciting love poems or anything, just an example."

I scan his nervousness in the left overs of the death of the sun. Sunset.

"You don't have to be so distant." I murmur, with a sliver of dissapointment in my voice.

"I haven't been distant."

"You sure have." I scoff. "Murdoc, I know you're not gay, and that this relationship thing we've got here has boundaries... But-..." I pull away from my own words.

"You were saying?"

"But..." I sigh. "You don't have to be _afraid_ of us..."

"I'm not afraid of us." He argues, with a tongue click that I don't like. "I never said that."

"Than you're afraid of me. You don't have to be afraid of me... Because I _love you_..."

He nods, and forces part of a smile. "I know you do. And I'm not afraid of you, or us, or anything for that matter. Just been a long day..."

I slowly nod my head, and bite the tip of my fingernail, taking my eyes back onto the sky. Watching the island sway. And somewhere a helicopter roars.

I ignore it, and point my finger overhead. "Look, It's getting pretty high."

"What is?" He asks.

"The island."

His face freezes in some sort of fear as his eyes peel to the size of oranges.

"what.. "

"It's almost to the clouds!" I shout. "Look, see?"

'IT'S ALREADY IN THE SKY?" He booms, whips his head over to me. I flinch back, and nod.

"Yeah, it's right there." I point to it again, and his head swivels to it. As soon as he finds it, he practically flys to his feet.

"FUCK, FUCK, SHE'S GOT HER PHONE RIGHT? TELL ME SHE'S GOT HER FUCKING PHONE!"

"I dunno, I think so, what's wrong?" I ask, as my heart starts to run. What the fuck is going on? Surely no one's in danger?

But he's gone. He quickly scampers away, shouting something about helicopters. Down the fire escape he goes, and out of my vision.

It's probably nothing though. It never is. I mean, he's always got some sort of something up his sleeve, right? Must be trying to scare me...

So I focus back in on the island, as a flying beast makes way for it. By flying beast, I mean helicopter. Huh, helicopters have been popping around a whole lot lately. But what's it doing?

It retracts some sort of long metaly cannon thing. Or a gun... A big silvery gun. And another one hovers just over my head, as they both seem to swim the sky for the island. Going quite directly for the island...

**AN: Oh my :( Welp, this is going to be blagh. But review please, and tell me what you guys think :) Thank you so much for reading!**


	33. 33: The Bitter air of El Manana

**AN: Oh my :( Welp, this is going to be blagh. But review please, and tell me what you guys think :) Thank you so much for reading!**

**Chapter 33: The Bitter Air of El Manana**

_Something's wrong..._

There's a smokey bitterness in the air, and I can taste it, and I can see it... It fogs up my eyes, even though I can't see it. I can feel it, and I can smell it, and I KNOW it has something to do with the island, I'm only just praying with every inch of my soul that I'm wrong. _Please, Please god let me be wrong..._

But I saw those helicopters, and I SAW those guns they retracted... People behind me shout and gasp in fear. In worry, or shock, or something like it.

If only I'd stayed on the roof, I could have seen for sure. But I left only a few minutes ago, and I turned my back from the sky for only a _minute_. And crash.

And boom. Something is wrong, something is painfully wrong. It's all behind me, I could turn my back RIGHT now, and I could see the island and watch it be okay, watch it float on in safety. See that it's all my mind playing hoaxes on me. I still can't even bring myself to look, I just can't...

But I have too.

So I swallow the pain that might be, and it slides down my throat like a chipped blade. But I turn my neck ever so slowly... Ever so slowly, as everything inside me shakes and shutters, I turn my head to the sky behind me.

With the first glance, shock drips into my tight skin. My mouth gapes open like a portal. Shock drips in, because for what seems like the first time in my life, I'm right and I don't want to be. I don't want to see the island crumbling into the burnt orange sky, dancing into death. Burning. _Dying. _But It's happening, and there it is.

With the second glance, fear is confirmed. I wanted to wake up a few seconds ago, and I still do. But the island takes another blow from one of the copters that circles it like a hungry shark, and the fear is confirmed. My body tightens up, and renders lifeless as my legs give out and send me to my knees. I can only watch as clumps of dirt fall back to the ground, and the island is destroyed before my very eyes.

What brings the tears to my dark eyes is Noodle. She's in there, she's IN THERE. And the water escapes from my eyes, setting free and scaling down my face. She's trapped, and there's nowhere she can go... They look on at me, the people. They stare at me. I don't care, let them watch.

My shaken fingers make their way to my pocket. I nearly miss dialing her number. The phone begins to dial, and I hold it to my ear as I just watch the sky in pain, and agony.

_*Beeeep...Beeeep...Bip-Bip-Bip*_

The line is busy, the LINE IS FUCKING BUSY. She's maybe calling for help? And they'll come and get her? Oh god someone save her, someone _please _save her.

The second helicopter takes a blow, and all I can do is cry. All I can do is watch, and hold my hand tightly over my mouth as it begins to crumble. All I can do is weep, and sob, and hope, as piece by piece it's taken over by fire. The windmill, it's quickly caught by flame, and the propeller goes dead. Nothing to drive it. Nothing to save her.

I look down at her geisha box in my hands, and I clutch it like it's her. Like she's inside the box, and I hold her with me. Safe. Warm.

The bitter smoke grows, and the island begins to free fall as there is nothing to hold it up, to fly it. I find myself sobbing uncontrollably as it acts as a meteor. Heading directly for the ground. But I can barely see it anymore through the smoke. It's just a burning ball in the sky. A burning ball that fades, and isn't seen anymore as it hits disappears somewhere far from here that I can't see.

_*CRASH*..._

The world goes hush. Everyone on the street is quiet, but me. I continue to wale and weep, because...

She's dead._ I know it_.

Noodle is dead, and it all happened so fast. everything was burning, there was nothing to save her. I hold the box even tighter to my chest now, as it's the last remaining link I have with her. I didn't even get a propper goodbye.

"N-..._No.._" I mutter to myself, under my clasped hand. How could this all happen? Why? Who would do something like this to such an amazing little girl? Such a bright little ray of hope... And I'll never get to see her shine again.

The bystanders walk on. They move on with their busy fucking lives that are _too good_ for Noodle. Some keep watching the sky, and a few keep watching me as I sob into my hand. Waiting for her to comeback, as the crowd fades, and the faces leave.

One face stays. The one with the ruby glowing in his skull cavity. He watches me weep in sorrow as I only now notice him looking at me. Murdoc.

I almost fly into him, I NEARLY stagger up from the pavement to cry into his chest, right in front of everybody. I almost give in. Than I remember something.

_"Check. Target should be terminated than. Copters will be in the sky within a few minutes, and all should be well."_

I look at him, he looks at me, and the acid in my stomach threatens to over boil. I begin to feel sick, sick with fear and anger and sadness all at once. He did this.

He's killed Noodle.

"Stu, I-" He approaches me, and I scamper back, still on the ground. I nearly crawl, before just plain getting onto my feet and walking backwards quickly. Still looking at him.

"You." I shake my head. "You- You were working with the helicopter p-people!"

"What?" He looks almost hurt, or worried.

"St-stay away from me." I stutter.

"I don't know what you're"

"STAY THE FUCK AWAY!" I turn from him and begin to walk faster, just trying to get away. He follows, I can hear him. Running. Calling after me.

But I run faster. I pick up my pace, and sprint from him like he's some monster. And he is. The bastard is a monster.

He stops when we're in a people-free area, and calls out to me. "What the fuck are you doing, get back"

"YOU KILLED HER!" I sob roughly. "I HEARD YOU! On- On the phone, going on about the target being terminated and, and hellicopters!"

His face seems to turn to shocked stone. "Oh shit..." He mutters. "Look, this isn't what you"

"JUST STOP IT!" I break off his talking, and he quiets up. "JUST SHUT UP, HOW THE FUCK COULD YOU DO THAT? SHE WAS JUST A LITTLE GIRL, AND SHE LOVED YOU, SHE LOVED ALL OF US, AND YOU KILL HER? IS THAT WHAT YOU DO TO PEOPLE WHO LOVE YOU, YOU SLAUGHTER THEM?... "

I stay still yet shaking,and wipe away stray tears.. "You're a sick bastard."

"LET ME EXPLAIN-"

I shake my head as a few beads drip off my chin. "Theres nothing to explain, get the hell away..."

I get one last glimpse of that eye of his, and I run again. Not looking back, and hating every minute of it, suddenly hating every minute of my own existance. He calls things, he tells me to stop, but I just keep running. I'm faster than him, and I can get away if I need to. This would be one of those times.

Though every inch of me is tired, I keep running for everything I've got. I run for Me, I run for Noodle... I run in hopes that Murdoc'll try to catch up and collapse to the pavement.

When my feet are probably blistered to the bone, and my head can't take anymore running, I look back. No Murdoc. I must have lost him.

But my phone rings. I pull it out, and it is of course who I think it is. I reject the call, and turn to the alleyway I've just wandered into.

My feet can't take me, and I collapse in sobs, as I hold my head and curl up into myself. But the phone rings again. Still Murdoc. I ignore it again, I don't want to talk to that monster, that evil fucking douche.

_Murdoc Killed Noodle_.

The truth floats about in my head, poking into my brain and I just can't believe it. She's gone, and it's his fault, all his... But why? Why would he do something like that? I just can't put this together...

And it rings again. This time, I shut the phone off completely. No more, I can't take this.

No more phone ringing, no buzzing, no beeping. Just me, and the sound of my own quiet sobbing.

She's... she's just gone. And I'll never see her again, never hear her laugh, never play with her, never hear her gentle little voice, telling us all to be calm. Never again...

In my lap, still sits the little geisha box. I run my thumb over it, the smooth little faded painting of birds and flowers. A warm tear hits the surface of it, forming a nice little bead. I rub it away carefully with my thumb.

"I'm so sorry." I sob softly to it, as if it holds Noodle. As if she's alive, just a tiny little thing curled up inside of it. "I'm_ so sorry _I let this happen to you."

Nothing replies. Nothing tells me its okay, or rubs me on the shoulder. Just the quiet of the night, and the sound of my own gentle weeping.

I carefully twist the little silver knob between my shaking fingers, and open the dusty box. It plays the music, the shaky japanese sounding music that now sounds so much sadder. I rub the spot where the missing leg is, and I think of her... And I think of Murdoc. I shut the box shakily as my many mistakes settle in my stomach, and threaten to make me sick.

The mistake I made. How the hell could I choose someone, could I love someone so vile? With such a trick up his sleeve... And why? How did I not see this coming, were there signs I didn't noticed? That I ignored? How can I go back now? How can I see him again, go back to Kong?

No. I can't... I can't go back there. Theres nothing left for me at Kong. Gorillaz is over... Noodle's gone. She's gone... _Gone._

Just mowing over this thought again chokes me, and my eyes fill up again. They fill up, and they let out as I bury my head back into the music box, and hold it close. But where do I go? Where is there for me to go?

I heave out a shaken breath, and pull the phone back out of my pocket, wiping my sunken eyes with the edge of my sleeve.

I carefully turn it back on as if it's dangerous. And not a moment after it's back on, it's ringing again. I quickly ignore it again and dial up a new number. My wet fingers nearly miss the buttons, but I dial it in fast before he can call again.

It rings a few times, and I hold back rough sobbing. She picks up.

My mothers voice is a comfort, and it enters the phone. "Hey hon, what's up?"

I can't even answer. I just breathe hard, and try with all my might to hold back the weeping.

"Stuart? Hello?"

"Mum..." I choke a sniffle into the phone. Trying so hard not to cry...

She being motherly, already knows by this noise that something's gone wrong. "Stuart, what's wrong? Are you hurt? Is everything okay, what's going on?"

I can't say it. I just can't, because it's hard to even admit it to myself.

"Noodle..." I bite my lip and close my eyes hard as I sniffle out the cold truth. "She's... she's _dead_..."

"Oh my _god..._" She gasps softly, and adopts a lighter tone. "_Baby_... I'm so sorry, wh-what happened?"

"I don't even know..." I shake my head and wipe my eyes again, that just don't seem to dry. "Everything j-just... went wrong, I don't even know. It was th-the music video, and- and-.. Murdoc, he-... Everything was just fire, and dirt, and I-"

"Shh..." She hushes me softly. "It's alright dear, slow down. Brace yourself, you could go into hyperventilation... just calm down sweetheart."

It now occurs to me that I'm in hysterics.

"Just breathe... Deep breaths"

I do as she says, and inhale dramatically, letting it out. It doesn't work. Everything still hurts equally as much.

"She's... _she's gone._" I quake and mutter slowly.

"Everything will be okay..." she says quietly, and lushly. "Everything is going to be-"

"No it wont!" I snap back in a cry. "She's dead, she died! An innocent little girl... she's, she's-"

"I know sweetie, I know." She tries to calm me. "She was your friend, and this isn't going to be easy to deal with... How are the others taking it?"

I shrug to myself. "I h-haven't seen Russ yet."

"Oh I see... Poor fellow..And Murdoc?"

This only forces more hysterical sobs out of me, because I can't even tell her that it's his fault, this is ALL his fault. Again, I can't even admit it to myself, let alone to my mother.

"Shh-Shh..." She silences my sobs, and takes away the delicate topic. "It's okay, It's okay... Now honey I want you to stay on the phone with me until you get back to your studio-"

I shake my head furiously.

"No." I sniffle, and choke through cries. "I'm... I'm coming home."

She accepts this and brings back a delicate tone. "...Alright baby. You do whatever you need to do. If you need to come home, I'll just wash your sheets and make sure theres a fresh pillow on your bed when you get here. That's perfectly fine."

I nod. "Alright... Thanks. I've got to g-go now."

"I love you sweetie." She says sadly. "This is all going to be okay. I promise."

"I love you too mum." I hang up the phone on that, and say goodbye to my mothers calming voice.

That should have helped, but it didn't because Noodle isn't here. Noodle isn't anywhere, she's gone. Russ is nowhere to be found, Murdoc's a cold blooded murderer, and all that's here with me is a few bags of trash and a cold bitter feeling in the air. Just me, bawling in a dirty alley way. Wishing. Hoping. Waiting.

No Noodle. No gorillaz. No Russel... And no Murdoc.

Me, and the bitter air of death. The bitter air that surrounds the death of a beloved, beloved friend.

**AN: Oh my god :( That was particuarly grueling to write. Hate sad things blahh. But keep reading, because things will get better ofcourse.**

**Tell me what you think guys, and thanks so much for reading and reviewing! :D You guys are wicked :)**


	34. 34: Ashes to Ashes

**Chapter 33: Ashes to Ashes**

**AN: Yes, some story line things were changed around purposefully if you noticed :P not bothering to point them out though. Anyways, thank you for reading and enjoy it all of you! :D**

They say facing your fears is the best thing you can do. They say it clears your mind, makes you feel better, and removes all the weight from your chest. Who is _they _anyways? Whoever said that doesn't know shit, because I've faced one of the biggest fears I can even comprehend, and look at me.

I'm a lifeless bag of skin and flesh and a brittle ribcage that hosts the heart that died along with Kong studios, along with Gorillaz, and along with... I can't even say it. I can't, because every time I do, all that happens is my eyes begin to water and my chest aches, and my heart crashes over again, with out even bothering to pick up the pieces.

With me, I've the clothes on my back, my cellular, my wallet, and whatever else was inside my shitty car that I hopped into so quickly only a couple hours ago. And memories. Some precious, and some so obviously sickening. Everything else that belongs to me was left to rot in Kong studios. Going back there is a risk I'm not about to bourdon myself to take.

But there is one other thing I took, and probably the only thing I would have cared for taking anyways. The geisha box, that sits delicately in my lap as I drive Man manically towards my hometown.

My eyes keep wanting to skip down to it, but I don't let them. I wipe the remaining dew away from them (though they don't bother to stop this damned crying), and I drive on in the silence that only gets interrupted by my own sniffling and occasional cry-outs. Those only happen when I realize what the hell just happened though, which I'm currently doing again.

Smoke, and blur and confusion. Watching one of your best friends die before your very eyes, but miles into the sky at the same time...But miles away... Realizing only than that the only one you might have cared about just as much, or maybe even more was responsible. And than just running away like a coward. Fleeing the scene while the rest of the world wonders what happened to poor innocent Noodle, and why her big brother like figure just ran off into the smoke.

Like a fucking coward. The true coward that he really is.

By the time I've hit the driveway and parked, the tears have pretty much come to a slow halt, leaving me to be a pale scrap of drafting paper that might fly away with the wind if I dare to open the car door. And that's almost what I want to do. Go with the wind.

I take my raw and reddened eyes out the window and watch the neighborhood. Watching gentle wind tease trees softly back and forth. Wanting to go with it... Leave the world, just float above the tree tops with the subtle wind and never wonder what the earth might think of it. Maybe I could... Just leave the world?

I shake my head and turn away from the window, pushing my childish ideas under the rug. Leaving the world.. What a bunch of non-sence. My parents small pride of a house looks back at me through the wind screen and taunts me to come inside. In there, will be the same old surroundings and homey treasures that I've ran back to on multiple occasions now. Lets run back again, shall we?

My feet and hands shake with nerve and numbness as I exit the car with the little box in my hands, and take no time to stretch my legs or breathe the dark bitter air. I just walk with a jitter in every quiet step up to the front porch step where I look down at a scruffy welcome mat that has every intention of giving me a warm feeling that I seem to refuse to take.

But bothered by the welcome mat or not, I knock softly at the door and only now think of leaving. My parents are doing fine, great even, why am I to bourdon them with myself? All I'm going to do is upset them with my stupid presence, and break something probably. I might as well just go... That's it... It's for the best.

I quickly turn with a quick, but still shaken step. I'm stopped by the sound of an opening door. It's quiet for a moment as I sit in the stillness and bite my bottom lip, scrunching my eyes closed roughly.

"Stuart?" Mum speaks carefully, and quietly. Her voice even though I don't reply, is quite a softener to this situation... But not really.

I turn slowly and greet her with nothing like a facial expression, really. Just the left-overs on todays plate of everything horrible. Her face tells me how bad I look. The shock that plays back in her oak eyes.

She warmly takes my cold shaking spider of a hand, the one that isn't holding the box, and welcomes me inside. Almost as soon as the door closes us in from the outside world, her arms are thrown around my neck and she closes them in around me like I'm the only thing she's got in the world.

"Love..." She mutters to me. "_I'm so sorry_"

This is what does it. I'll be nearly done with the tears, and than someone just has to feel sorry for me like this and it brings the crying right back. She grasps me with everything in her and all I do is cry limply. Not loudly, or whiney like. Just limply and tired, because I've wasted all my voice. I'm just an overcooked strand of spaghetti in her arms, a young child, a baby boy... Running back home to mum. And I feel so pathetic, so low as she rocks me slowly in her arms while I cry. The music box threatens to fall from my weak fingers.

"Everything came about.. so randomly" I manage to choke out a few words, but they come out in ached sniffles. "She just... the- the island, it-"

"Shh..." She hushes me and strokes my head with the tips of her fingers. "Calm down now boy, it's alright... It's alright..."

I'm pretty sure I've soaked her shoulder with my own eyes now. She doesn't seem to mind, just keeps holding me tight like an injured child. And this goes on for a long, almost quiet few minutes that are only given sound my my sniffling and light sobbing.

"I hate seeing you like this." Theres a hint of sniff in her voice, like I'm making her cry a bit. God, I _would _do that. She pulls me up from her shoulder and awkwardly wipes my eyes with her thumbs, making them nearly dry. It doesn't work, they still keep bleeding that sad water.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She asks gently, removing her hands but taking one of mine in them.

I shake my head and paw my tear welled eye with my wrist. "No... I just need to get some sleep."

She nods sympathetically and pets my cold hand with her warm fingers. "Okay... but are you sure? You don't want some tea or anything?"

I shake my head and softly break free of her hands, to slump slowly to the hallway.

"No thank you.." My voice creaks like an old floorboard as I slither away to my bedroom door. I can't see her, but I assume she's just watching me like I'm some sort of sad beaten animal.

But foot-steps lead up to me, and she places a hand on my shoulder as we enter my room. Sure enough, it's got a light warmth to it and everything is clean and neat and vanilla smelling. My bed's been straightened out, and the posters on my walls remain. Everything is in tact to the day I left it, except for the candy bar wrappers and dirty laundry have all been rescued and put to death.

The sight should welcome me, but it doesn't. Nothing does anymore. I tread across shag carpet, with dirt scuffed shoes that mum would have made me take off if it weren't for the circumstances. Mum follows my tracks. The bed makes a croak as I lower myself onto it and just sit for a moment as mum watches me sit and stare blankly at the wall.

"I thought you might be coming soon." She says softly. "So I'd made up your room after you'd made the call a few hours ago."

"Thanks." I murmur robotically.

She nods. "I've phoned your father too. He's just had to tweak the motors on the bumper-boats, than he'll be on his way over."

All I can give for that is sort of a grunt in agreement, a small shaken hum. All that my raw throat wants to manage. One of my eyes flicks up to her for a moment, and I wonder if she's just going to sit and watch me all day. I wonder if I even really want her to go. It feels almost childish to say, but it feels good to have my mum around right now. Like I needed her...

"You're sure theres nothing else you need..." She asks almost needily.

I shake my head and give her a break. "No... Just a nap. That's all."

I kick my shoes off with no such grace, and stumble under covers in quite the same way. Tired, clumsily. I let myself settle in, and the light flicks off. That means she must have gone.

But no, she pecks at my cheek with her lips to kiss her son goodnight, or good afternoon, or whatever depending upon how long I'm asleep.

"I love you." She whispers.

"Love you too.." I mumble to her under thick covers that muffle my creaky voice. For a long while, she indicates no leaving. I assume she just stands and watches her broken boy try to forget, and try to sleep. I duke out in my head whether I want her to leave or not. I can't even decide if I want to be totally isolated right now, or warmed by my family. It's all unclear...

After I've fooled her with some heavy fake sleep breathing, she softly touches my head once more before pittering out the door on quiet feet. If only I didn't have to fake falling asleep. Usually, I can just snap right off to a quick snooze. No arguments, no struggles. Now is different.

Things have changed, tables have turned all so dramatically in the past day... Come to think of dramatic measures, only five hours ago I was swimming in a deep trance called love. And I've _never _hated myself more for anything.

Everything is clear, and clean. I can remember it like it was only yesterday, because it was in fact today that I was in love, and nearly every other day before it. I had my person, who just so happened to be a him, and just so happened to be the most vile pan of shit that I've ever crossed passed with. Only we didn't _just_ cross paths...

We shared one.

And my how he had to change. Take a minute away. Conspire with evil men to kill one of your best friends for no particular reason. Crush your mate, if he was even your mate at all... Did you trick me Murdoc? Fool me into this? But why?

And what kills me is this... What really just drives the knife through the surface of my chest isn't him, it isn't Noodle... _It's my own self._

Because somehow, after all of the sorry shit he's pushed me through and done... I still find myself hoping that somewhere, he's okay. And I've never hated anyone more than I hate myself for thinking like this.

I'm the sick one here. He may be sick, but I'm just as so as he. _Just as so..._

Shitty is most likely a proper label for your mood when you're listening to _Jewel_ on an old over used boombox that just so happens to be in your parents house.

This song, it doesn't even fit either. This _you were meant for me _junk, what is this? It seems to fit my mood, even though this song plays out nothing of my life. Maybe if Jewel composed something along the lines of _The ballad of being a sexually confused blue haired cock up, who's just basically watched his friend die because his boyfriend thing is a cold blooded tosser._ Maybe than, I'd listened to that.

But I'm listening to this anyways, and that title seems to be a bit too long. Maybe just _kill yourself, blue boy._ Yeah, that seems like it'd work. True enough.

Did I mention I havent left this room since yesterday? I mean, to pee and eat sure. But other than that I sit, a motionless mannequin on this bed that's grown quite uncomfortable. I fiddle with the keys on the piano, hitting mostly notes that come together in a darker slower tune. The happier section of keys is reserved for happier people.

_"Happy little piano keys_..." I sing in a soft tone, along with the keyboard. Just fooling about, really. "_Fall to your piano knees... And die because you fucking suck._"

This all, is still in a tune though. Oddly enough, I add on. "_The_ _world was on your shoulder, but it crushed you like a boulder, now these happy little piano keys... Died because..."_

They fucking suck. That's what finishes it. But oddly enough again, I don't stop.

"_Sleep little blue boy, the road's been quite long... Sleep little blue boy, you're already gone... leaving the masses, punches and thrashes, Ashes to ashes we'll fall-"_

And I'm getting quite deeply into this when my phone buzzes off. This has become something that makes my stomach curl up with pain and anger, because I know exactly who it is. It'll be Murdoc, calling again. Since yesterday, he's been on these little calling sprees every few hours. But I always find myself idly picking up the cellphone, and scanning just to maks sure it's him. So now doesn't differ. I sigh shakily, and pick the phone from the night stand, just to look at it.

My eyes might be shaking or something like it. This would be the equivalent of seeing a ghost. A dead friend calling your phone, right before your very eyes. The screen gives an eery blue glow to my nearly dark room. The word _Noodle_ in little white pixely letters stand out.

A shiver strokes my spine as I stare into it and my mouth hangs open. Is it... is it really her? Is she... alive? My eyes grow warm and slightly wet as the possibility that Noodle's still alive hits me, and hard.

My heart jumps in excitement as I hit the answer number.

"Noodle?!" I ask desperately. "Its that you, where are you? Oh thank god-"

"Dullard?" The voice is fuzzy, and out of place... It's eerie, and unexpected... But not Noodle. Not Noodle at all. Who else calls me dullard? Murdoc, in fact. Everything in me sinks into a deep pit where it won't be retrieved.

"That you? Are you there, listen I need to-"

"Why do you have noodle's phone." I shake.

"not important, I-"

"WHY DO YOU HAVE NOODLE'S PHONE." I repeat, with my voice nearly all in creaks.

He speaks quickly, and seriously. "Found it at the crash site and put the sim card in another phone. Only way you would answer me, now-"

"You even dare..." I over power him somehow, with my upset voice. "You even dare fool me into thinking you're her. You...you-"

"I need to explain things-" He says with almost something like fear in his voice. "Please, let me-"

"You're sick." I choke. "Don't you _ever _call this number again, you hear me?"

He gets almost panicky "2D,IT WAS ALL A-"

"I SAID DON'T EVER CALL THIS NUMBER AGAIN. FUCK OFF."

And it hurts so bad. It hurts so _fucking bad _to just hang up like that, and throw it to the wall. To watch the phone light up again and buzz repeatedly. Just sitting curled up, with my arms around my legs. Watching the phone ring again, and being utterly and completely afraid of it.

Knowing that whatever sort of love, or fake love you had is coiling up in front of you.. And just watching it. Waiting...

_Sleep little blue boy, the road's been quite long... Sleep little blue boy, you're already gone... leaving the masses, punches and thrashes, Ashes to ashes we'll fall..._

_Ashes to ashes we'll fall_


	35. 35:To Love A Murderer

**Chapter 35: To love a Murderer**

**AN: Sorry for the wait guys, and thanks for your support! Plastic beach is a'comin! :D But enough with the smiley faces, go on, read, you barnacles!**

I'm that grease seeping pile of gunk you left in your trash can. Useless.

I'm the bothersome cactus prickle in my own back. Annoying.

I'm the scum on the bottom of your sneaker sole. Disgusting.

But you can't scrape me off. I'm uncleanable. Not with soap, not with a butternife, not with that goop that the man at the corner store told you would clean me right off.

No, I stick there and stay because I'm bleak filth. Filth that can't be cleaned with soap, a butter knife, or trusty goop... Filth this rotten and disturbing doesn't chip off so easy, and neither will I. Yes, neither will the ball of blistering scum that houses himself on the bottom or your shoe, named Stuart. Named 2D, named faceache, named dullard, named Toochi.

With my arse planted in a waterless bathtub, I pick at a brown film of muck on the rim of the tub with the edge of my fingernail. Compare it to my own self.

This whole self hate thing is new, and alien... I mean, I've been mad at myself before, but that's usually just because I can't beat the boss on space invaders, or I've said something stupid to a pretty woman. Nothing like this... Never anything like this.

It's only been what... like a month since I've been back home? Maybe more? And all I've learned to do is count the things that disgust me about myself, make a list... No literally, I've made a check off list.

Characholy words seem to be engraved on a slip of yellow notebook paper, as I tap the edge of a nearly broken pencil to the list. Lets see here...

_Stuart's ailments, and possible cures (PC:possible cure)_

_ - PC:Go sleep in a haunted house or something, i dunno._

_ - PC: More math?_

_3. Possible Faggot- PC:Easy one, porn. Lots and lots of porn._

_ 's boy-PC: Stop letting her break into you. She's good at that though, you know._

_5. Gullable-PC:Never trust anyone._

Five of them doesn't seem enough. There are more ailments in me, I know it... And the only thing to cure them is to figure out what they are and ghost them out. What else have we got... Ah, I know

I set to carving again.

_6. completely in love with a completely eccentric man-PC:_

I pad my thumb across those last few written words and study them. Study the truth in them... Work on ways to fix them... If It's even possible.

In this past week, I've avoided many a task. Family, any sort of activity that isn't work, eating... Death, if you count overlooking a rope I'd found in dads toolbox a few times. Running my fingers across the rough pattern that left my finger rope-burnt. Wondering how that same rope burn might look circling the perimeter of my neck.

Better judgement caught me in quite good time though, plus I really wanted a cigarette and my carton was hollow, so the mini store down the road was a great distraction on that part.

But I look back to that last ailment and the possible cures that don't exist.

_6. completely in love with a completely eccentric man-PC:_

No cure. No treatment, no fixeroo. Just a hungry disease of the mind on a yellow sheet of paper. Well... There might be a couple things, though. The pencil reunites with the paper.

_6. completely in love with a completely eccentric man-PC: Go buy a beer, or kill yourself_

That's just barely an easy one to answer. If I die now, I'll miss supernanny at eight. Plus, you know, an eternity in deep bowels of hell doesn't sound that tempting today, but a london porter does.

And that's about it. I'll go off and get myself a scummy beer, and than who knows? Maybe life will be good to me, and I'll get struck by a freak flash of spontaneous lightning.

It'll send me into a deep sleep that I won't wake up from. A haven, a dream world maybe. Somewhere where worry and nerve doesn't poke mercilessly at my spine. My goodbye. It would be _My goodbye._ The real place where the little blue boy goes to sleep.

And it apears my thoughts have eaten me again, when the only thing I want to be eaten by is the alchohal I'm soon to buy. I toss my list lazily aside and pull myself out of the tub which I've grown quite comfortable in.

And the scary part is, being in that tub, alone and isolated, pestering my flaws to leave me... That seems the most comfortable I've been all day. In days... Maybe forever. Scary or not, I'm thirsty as hell, and I'm sure as hell not going to get anything just standing in this stupid bathroom. So goodbye bathroom. Have a better day than I'm having.

_Step step step step_

With each time my feet come down on the cold asphalt, I'm closer to somewhere. Closer to anywhere. But how many steps would it take to get away? How many to walk past the convenient store and skip the beer, how many to kick as far away from kong as the earth can take me, how many to be gone.

The answer whispers to me in the nights wind. And that answer is none, the answer is more steps than I can take. No where is far enough away, Not an island, not either of the Americas, none of them.

These problems, these stupid things my brain whines about... They're everywhere, in my head, in my hands, my heart, my stomach. Because I'm my own problem, and nowhere is far enough to get away from myself. I can't very well just _leave _my own self, can I?

The stars, maybe. I catch a wide glimpse of those little glittery holes in the sky, those burning white pearls that sleep millions of roads into the sky. Perhaps if I try, I could let go of the ground and float up one of those roads into the sky, and get caught on a burning pearl. Live with it forever, and look down on the body I left behind.

I stop myself with a brain-kick mid thought, and peer into the road in front of me. I stop myself, because these are _suicidal thoughts._ And suicidal thoughts are anything but safe._.. _My mind rewinds like an old tape, back to that rope I'd found. How close I was... The far too imaginable image of rope burn knitches lining my neck like an over tightened necklace. My own body to the floor. Lifeless, and done. Why did that thought just comfort me?

_Am I really this close to fucking suicide? This screwed up?_

Stuart, get off the topic. This is too dangerous, stop it. I mean, there are people who are _way _more fucked up in the cranium than me! What the hell is my problem, there are people with dead families, and drug problems, and _dieases_ and I'm just being a little bitch because... because...

A roaring car from behind tears me from mentally beating myself up. The lights pair with the roaring engine, and than along comes a voice.

"Stuart Harold, is that you?"

Fuck... Well, I'm smart enough to know who _this _is. She pulls up next to me in her motherly little van and slows down as I walk. Huh, now how familiar is this? Except this time I didn't roll out of a moving vehicle.

Her window slides down to show me her face, and not a very pleased looking one at that. Oh god, what'd I do now? Somethings wrong. The down-tweaked expression of her eyebrows tells me so.

"Oh, hey mum." I sigh under wind. "What are you doing here?"

"Get in the car." Her voice is solid, and upset.

"Why?"

"Because you came out of me, and I _said so."_

"Eugh." I grumble. "Alright, alright don't play that card, I'm going."

So yeah, it appears she's won again. She really always does. Feeling like my eight year old self again, I obey my mum and walk around the side of her car, to be taken in the door and bathed in a new warmth. It was pretty chilled outside.

But her face isn't warm. Not literally, I mean she just looks so pissed, so angry, so sad... I can't even make it out.

"What's wrong?" I ask, shutting the door tightly.

"Why don't you tell me anything?" Her sickly sounding reply gives me a bit of a jolt. Well that was a quick escalation.

I begin with a nervous stutter and a scratch to the head.

"Err... I'm not sure what you're-" But I can't even finish. She gets to fumbling around in her pocket for something, only for her hand to emerge with a yellow piece of paper... One with engraving-like hard writing on it. _My _handwriting on _my _list.

I go from her to the list, from her to the list. Just stuttering in shock.

"I... I- that's"

"Buy a beer or kill yourself?" She repeats my writings in a shaken voice. "Stuarts ailments, what is this about?!"

"It's nothing!" I defend. "Not mine, I- I don't know-"

"Yes you do." She shutters. "I _know _you do. Are you- are you suicidal, why didn't you tell me?"

"Mum!" I stop her, raising my voice uncomfortably. "I'm not suicidal, it was a joke... I-... It isn't mine... I... it's just..." My voice eventually hushes down.

She watches my lies fall apart and unravel in front of me. I watch them too, and try to find ways to piece them back together, stuttering awkwardly. But no. I can't.

"Please honey! We _love_ you, we all do! Sucicide is not the-"

"Mum!" I shout. "I'm not going to kill myself, that jas a joke.. I-...It's.."

Her voice comes back quiet and shakily. "And.. completely in love with a completely eccentric man? What's this about, I don't understand"

"You wouldn't understand, and neither would I because it's not mine"

"Stop. Lying." She gives me a motherly scold that I haven't heard in years. "And tell me what's going on.. I just want to _help _you..."

It's all out there, and the answer sits in my throat. But I don't let it out. We just sit there for a long while. Me with my eyes on the still road in front of us, and her with her eyes on me. And everything seems to have stopped, and slowed down for no reason at all.

Until of course, she talks again. "Stuart... I'm going to ask you something, and I want you to answer me truthfully, because whatever the answer is, it's _okay _and I _love_ you."

Like I don't know this question. Like I even know the answer.

And so her question begins with a sigh. "_Are you gay_?"

"No!" I flip my head to her, and everything just... well, falls apart, really. "I.. ugh, no, I don't know, mum! I don't know!"

That was all I needed to say. Everything's been given up, and given away. You can't just say _I don't know_ when someone asks you something like that, what the hell is going through my mind right now?

"...You don't _know?"_

I sigh, and bring my head to my hands just so I don't have to look at her. "No, I really don't. It's just..."

She waits for a response that I barely even have. So I give it. I whip my head up to her and give her my anger ridden response. The one she's been trying to pry out for so long.

"It's Murdoc, Okay? Is that what you wanted me to say so bad, because it is!... Look, I don't know why, or how, or when things started going this way, b-but they did, and... and I-...I...I'm sorry, okay?... I'm sorry."

By the end of this little burst out, I'm nearly in tears and I can't look at her anymore. What she thinks of me, the shame she might have playing back on her face... Because maybe being gay is okay, but Murdoc... That's a stranger tide to sail.

So it's quiet. Just quiet, and I HATE the quiet so much. SOMEONE MAKE NOISE! Someone break into the car, honk a horn, start a rap battle, something! I can't take this silence... But she breaks it, and that's not much better at all.

"Why are you sorry?" She asks quietly. Almost ashamed sounding, but not the bad kind... At least I'm not sure..

I shrug, and keep my eyes out into the dark. Not even being gracious, or ballsy enough to give her a reply.

She gives a small tired sigh. "_I know_."

My nerves jump as I quickly wrench my neck over to her. "What?"

"You're my son, Stu." She scoffs. "You think I don't know what my own son is feeling? I could just... I could just tell, that's why I called you that one night and asked. I just wanted to give you a chance to admit it to me before I told you that I already know... I could just see it."

I've almost forgotten about that night. The night she'd called when I was with Murdoc, and she'd asked me that very same question I gave into only a minute ago. Of course last time, I was much stronger willed. Since then, my willpower's taken a turn for the worse.

My bottom lip curls into my teeth, and I uproot dirt from my finger nails out of nervous habit. "What do you mean you could _tell_?"

"I know things." She shrugs. "And well... you two were just acting so weird together, so nerve ridden... I..well... And err..."

"And you what?" I raise her an eyebrow, but she just keeps with the nervous stutters.

"Erhmm... I kind of-"

"You what, Mum? Spit it out, than!"

"No." She shakes her head. "It's not necessary, I-"

"Tell me!" I protest.

She presses two fingers to her temples, and floods an answer. "I walked in on you in the winnabego, Okay?!"

"Oh, GOD." A hot warmth flushes to my cheeks as I smack my hand over one of my eyes and close the other in embarrassment. Just to hide from her, to hide from the shame, to hide from _fucking_ everything.

"Oh it's fine boy, you weren't far enough along, I-"

"NO NO NO." I interrupt her and cup my hands obnoxiously over my ears. "I can't hear you, none of this ever happened, LA LA LA."

Still, she continues. "I walked out the house and saw Madden stomping away in a bit of a fit. Wasn't really sure what that was about, but I tried to go into the-"

"Mum, I REALLY don't need to know this."

"Stuart Hush!" She scolds my impatience. "I'm trying to clear things up. Now.. So I tried to go in, and nothing was far along yet, not enough noise to hear anything, just kissing and-"

"_Please_." I plead. "I was _there,_ I know what happened, you think I want to hear a playback from my MOTHER?"

"Stuart." She chuckles. "It's just your sex life, It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"Uh, yeah. IT IS." I grumble, twisting my vision as far away from her as it can get. "And I don't wanna talk about it."

"I never said I wanted to _talk_ about it, I just thought you should know I know."

I huff and turn back to her slightly. "So you really saw that..."

She nods.

"And you acted so calm the next morning?"

Again, a nod. But something hits me. A _why_, a _how_, a _what the fuck_, all rolled into one, they smack me clear across the face.

"So you knew... And you perfectly normally... Even wiped_ stuff _off of my face with your THUMB, and stuck it back into your mouth."

She raises an eyebrow. "Stuart, what are you-"

Than of course, a certain look takes over her face, and she knows _perfectly_ well just what she wiped off my face that morning. Her eyes gape open, along with her mouth.

"Oh dear _god._" She clasps a hand over her mouth, and I almost want to laugh. I remember however, just what this situation is about.

"Don't worry." I mumble, scratching my reddened cheeks. "It was his."

"We're not talking about that one, understand?" She points a strict finger to me.

"Puh." I scoff. "We're not talking about _any _of this. Ever."

"Stuart." She quickly snaps back to her motherly, whiny self. "Come on, I want to know things! Let me into your life, I want to know about your friends, your boyfriends, your-"

"Hold it!" My finger jumps up and stops her mid-word. "First of all, I'm not _gay, _mum. It was just him, and don't call him my boyfriend, I- Well... He-"

"Was he your boyfriend or not?" She groans. "Simple question."

Having this whole conversation with my _mother _of all people. What a peach of an evening, really.

"No." My answer is short, tired, and dripping with cold truth. "I was tricked. Nothing more than his tool, something to help him get around or whatever. It was... just for the... He only wanted me for..."

"Sex?"

The sound of my mother digging into my social life only makes me cringe harder, and burn with red embarrassment. "Yeah... That... and I-"

"How do you know he didn't love you too?"

"I never said I loved him." I complain.

"Do you?" Her question sindges me. I huff hard.

"Well... I... It's just that-" My own excuses and lies run from me, and leave my words without voice. I sigh again.

"Exactly." She smirks warmly. "Now how do you know he doesn't feel the same way?"

"I don't know!" I seem to explode. "I really don't know, and I don't care! I-I... I don't want to be a fag, I'm done. This whole thing, it's over. Finished. Done. vamoosed."

Her eyes sink with shame. "You should be ashamed."

"Exactly." I mumble in a crumbly voice. "I should be. What was I thinking? Murdoc. Love. Fuck it, fuck it all."

Her eyes droop more, and I don't know if it was because of my foul language, but...

"Not about that!" She shouts. "Who cares if you love a man? You don't throw it away like it's a bag of swill! Now do you love him?"

"Mum, I-"

"Stuart, do you love him." She brings back the tone she used with me when I was a boy who stole sweets before dinner. I couldn't lie than, and I can't now.

I nod slowly, barely even noticeably. I pick up my small shaky voice. "With all of everything there is in me."

"Than what in gods name are you doing? Love looks you in the eye, and you snub it like it's nothing?! Embrace it! Take it with you wherever you go, but don't leave it behind! Never leave it behind!"

But she doesn't know, she hasn't a clue! I can't run back now! I know what he's did, and she never will. He's killed Noodle, and I still love him! That makes me the monster here, the bag of swill, the rotting garbage. All because I love him. Even after all his shit, his stupid shit that put an end to one of those I hold closest, I need him.

I want him to to hold me, pull me in, hit me, kick me, kiss me, insult me, chase me with a flamethrower, walk with me, run with me, call me gay, deny me, _not_ deny me, sleep next to me, use me, abuse me, love me, undress me, fuck me, swim with me in the sky and wallow in what we call life, make me _me _again.

But...

But to love a murderer is to love death itself. I don't know who said that, but whoever they are, they're right.

"Well, what are you going to do?" She asks.

I graze the stars, the little burning pearls in the sky. And I give the answer that remains unclear.

"Move on. It's all I can do, it's what I want to do, It's what I have to do. There's no other option... Take me home, please."

She's disappointed in me, I know it. But she doesn't understand, this is one thing that mum can't untangle. Without so much as a sigh, she revs up the car and we leave the spot where we've been for these minutes that seem like hours. The car ride is close to unbearable, I'd almost rather burn. My cheeks are, I know that.

"I'm sorry." I break what was a cold silence.

"Love shouldn't make you sorry." She says lightly. "There fore, I deny the apology that isn't needed."

This only makes me - the man who's supposed to be a man- want to cry. Because yet again, she doesn't know. I should be sorry, I need to be sorry. I wish I could be sorry to everyone, give everyone my personal apology. My mum, My dad, Noodle, Russel, The fans, The band manager Dave, everyone else in the world who ever uttered the useless word _Gorillaz._ Except for the one who's words remain in my voice mail box. The one who's calls stopped only about a week ago, but the voice mails remain.

I haven't the guts to delete them, _or _listen to them, for that matter.. I have to come clean though, when the calls stopped I was upset. Knowing there was nothing left, nothing there. No chance to hear his voice, because calling back was never an answer, and it still isn't.

He's gone. Part of me wishes him dead, part of me wishes _me _dead, and the another part wants him nowhere else but right here with me. But to love a murderer, is to love death itself.

And whoever spoke that spoke the truth. The cold, undeniable truth that I still deny deep in my head sometimes. _Sometimes_...

**AN: Again with sad things. Poop. Well, review if you please, and...**

**TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK :) I love your words :D**


	36. 36: My goodbye

**Chapter 36:** **My goodbye **

**REVIEWER VOTE AT THE END :)**

_**When it just so happens to be three years later:**_

_My eyelids are the shutters to whatever terrors lie outside the windows that are my eyes. I'm afraid, I'm horifically afraid of everything, of anything. Of living. I can't do it, I can't._

_There's a subtle breeze wafting around the area, and it matches the sound of slowly rocking gentle water, crashing against something. And the smell is salt. Salt, and deep cold, and death._

_Where am I, where are we? Who is we? Who else is here?_

_"Who are you." I murmur softly under the crashing water. "What do you want?"_

_But no answer. Only the voice of water harshing more rougher by the second against rocks. Rougher, and more humanly, until it soon almost sounds familiar. Like a voice...like talking._

_"Who are you?" I repeat, more desperately this time._

_"Open your windows and see." The water whispers. "Who am I?"_

_So I open them. Very quickly, but carefully, I peel my windows of eyes open. And here I am, and here is no one. A gentle-harsh sea lyes awake in front of me, and the sky that frames it is dark. A dark periwinkle that I assume must be all storm clouds. I look around, and still there is no one. Only me, the sea, and an overwelming sence of death._

_"Who am I, Stuart?" The sea asks. "Who am I?"_

_"You tell me."_

_"Very well..." It speaks coyly. "I am death."_

_But suddenly, everything is familiar. Everything is known. Haven't I seen this before? Heard it in a movie, or something?_

_"You..." I shake, but can't turn and look at anything else but the sea. "You've come for me?"_

_For a moment, I'm pained with silence. But soon enough..._

_"I have been with you for a long time now." Death tells me. But somehow, I already knew this. This was already clear, and I could always feel death by me. Behind me beside me, within me._

_I watch the sand and sigh. "I know."_

_"... Are you afraid?" It asks in a hush, curdled voice._

_I tell the truth. The truth I've faced for a while now. "No."_

_"Very well... Do you know what you're to do?"_

_I nod hushly, though I'm unsure. "I think so..."_

_There is no more answer, no more talking. But only action. I know where to go, I know what to do. So I walk... Just a straight line, and into the surf. The grey of the ocean chills my ankles, and soon my knees as I walk into it, and trudge with growing difficulty._

_But it's okay. It's all alright, because soon enough I'm past my waist in, and than my stomach, than shoulders into the cold waves. Then my head, and nothing is seen, but everything is warm and wet and quiet and dark... And all is okay. Death is with me. And I'm okay... I let myself sway with the ocean, get carried away with the loving sea... And all is alright for me._

No nightmare jolts me up farther than this one, sends me nearly over the bed in a thick coat of warm sweat.

"Fuck." I pant heavily, running one of my hands down my clammy face, the other rubbing an eye. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

This would be, maybe the seventh time I've had this dream. The seventh time I've awoke in a tub of my own sweat, the seventh time I've had more fear in my left pinky finger than I've had in my entire life...

But it's also the seventh time I've been so happy... Strange as it sounds, in the last few seconds of that dream, I'm always ecstatic. So relived, so overjoyed at where I am. Like there's just this mysterious warmth, glowing around every part of me, six feet deep into the water, six feet into the sea.

...Six feet deep into death. See, in the last few seconds of that dream, where I'm completely surrounded by water, I'm dead. That's what my dream thinks is death, I guess... And it's always so comfortable... Why does that make me happy? Why would my own death bring me joy?

Maybe it's this apartment, I dunno. I let my eyes explore the dark corners and creases of the bedroom that lyes within my _own _apartment. Maybe it's the loneliness, the lack of friends, of family around. But that's not enough... I mean...

I'm fucking _miserable._ And not just miserable, I mean I hate _everything_. Anyone else's happiness literally drives me halfway to nutterville. I haven't been really happy in at least three years, and the only time I've ever experienced any sort of joy within these three years is the end of those dreams... That last little bittersweet end... _And I want it._

My alarm reads _2:44 PM _in threatening red letters. Sunday. The day off, that gives me no more joy than a normal week day. So stay in bed, why not?... But I don't. Something tells me to get up, so I do. I swing my legs over the edge of the mattress and hobble to a stand because something told me to.

And whatever told me to stand up, is making me actually walk out of my bedroom and through the open bathroom door. unfortunately, when I get there and tick the light switch up, I actually catch a glimpse of myself, and the glimpse leads to a full on view.

Broomstick hair, sticking out in every direction. I'd smooth it down, but I honestly don't give a shit. I'd cut it maybe, because it's getting quite long, but I honestly don't give a shit, I just don't care.

I don't care that my face needs a shave, I don't care that the purple bags under my eyes are growing to the size of _real _bags, and I don't care that I really need to take a piss. But I do so anyways, after glowering at my disgusting self so long in the mirror, that I forget its me.

Than, after washing my hands up, I catch sight again and realize how much I fucking hate mirrors, and how much I fucking hate myself... God, I need the pills, do I _ever_ need them.

Since moving back into here, things have been bleak shit, and bleak shit comes with headaches. So what else was there to do? Get the pills back, swallow them, and let them swim through my bloodstream. That's exactly what I did, except getting them back wasn't as easy as the first step made it seem.

Behind my gruesome image in the mirror, is a cabinet, and in the cabinet, there are a few bottles of illegaly-aquired vicodin. I pick the closest one, and down two or three when the caps off, basically just drinking from the dry bottle.

_*Vrrr...Vrrr*_

The bottle trips out of my hands as a sound wakes me up. Sounds like a text. Who's texting me? I've got no bloody friends, bet its just Arnold telling me I've got to come in to work. Blasted Arnold, screw him and his stupid curly hair.

With drastic conclusions in my mind, I leave the mess of pills to the ground and set off to my phone, the same one I've had for the past four years, no upgrades, no new ones, just a shit piece of plastic that controls most of my very life. I pick up the old chunk of grey from my bedstand, and open my inbox... Sure enough...

_Arnold V. 2:48 PM: hey did you get my voc. mail? need u to come down n fill in. thx_

Well I was completely right, and to make matters worse, Arnold sent me a voicemail. If theres anything I genuinely hate hearing, it's Arnold's voice. Might as well listen to it Huh, never even touched this voicemail box before... Lets see than... I find the voicemail box, and blindly let his voicemail play. All it is, of course is something about one of the other employee's being sick or whatever, and me needing to comedown. Also, something about snails, but I don't really pay any mind to that. Delete, delete, delete.

_"Voicemail deleted. 246 new. Press one to listen."_

Two hundred forty six new? Holy hell! Four years worth of voicemails, huh? Yeesh, I've got to remember to check these more often. Now than... Who might these be from?

_"Hey it's Para-" _Slut. Delete.

_"Stu, do you think you could fill"- _Arnold. Delete.

_"Listen here motherfucker, if you think-"_ Slut's boyfriend. Delete.

"_Congratulations, You've-" _Telemarketer. Delete.

Pretty soon, I'm far enough into all of these that I could pretty much give you a play by play of all the women I've fucked, people I've pissed off, and Jobs I've quit in the past year. But will I play it all back? Nah. I might as well go see what Arnold-

_"Tomodachi!_" Something in my throat sinks and rises as the organ in my chest comes to a halt. My chest shakes with some alien emotion. "_You are very late, you know. Everyone has been wondering where you are, and have you seen Russel? He is probably still eating that cake he had when I left, but anyways, be sure not to be too late! Bye!"_

Is this new? When is this from?! Oh god, it could be new, is she still alive? It could be, it really really could be! My newly dampened fingers race over buttons to find out when the date of this voicemail.

_September 5th, 2006_

_2006..._ The number pokes into me, prys at me, kills me with red lettered daggers...Brings a couple drops to my eyes... two thousand sixth, not two thousand nine, two thousand fucking six... And still, I just stare blank faced into the screen, trying to register what never will... Did I really have any hope? Did I really think it was her, or her NOW? How...H-how could I be so stupid... Let myself believe that. This was _three years ago..._

Three years ago, when all of this shit happened... It's so hard to believe. The day my world fell from the sky, the day when _me, myself _truly ended. The last day I was _actually, really happy_ ... Until, ofcourse all the shit went down, hell broke loose... That... the day...

When he... When Murdoc...

No, I PROMISED myself I wouldn't do this again. I can't do this to myself, I can't... He's a bloodhound, heartless, you hate him! You want nothing more than to strangle him Stuart, get ahold of yourself!

_"I love you" _Killing me, his far off words are burned into my brain, only to sting once again.

HE DOESN'T LOVE YOU_. _He never did, and you don't love him. Come on Stuart, we've been over this before! Stop crying! Jesus, fuck, calm down!

But I can't. I cry like the weak puss of a man I am. I slump over my knees and I cry for her again, like I havent done in almost a year... I was nearly over it, I was perfectly fine! I just had to check the god damned voicemail... I had to shake up what was already settled into a cold, hard, normal.

Below in my hands, another voicemail decided to pour itself out... And when it starts... I just...

_"Stuart, where the fuck are you?"_ It's... It's _Him..._ I take no time to study the phone, or watch in shock, I grab that phone and fumble to turn it off. It wont, and I throw it, let it escape from my hands and fly to the wall, where it crashes to the floor and falls, just like the windmill... still playing memories into my ears. Murdoc's voice.

The phone won't shut up, so I scamper up away, and stomp from the bedroom in some sort of fear, in pain, in white hot anger. The door shutters fiercely closed as I slam it, and make way for the desk... particularly the drawer, and what lyes untouched in it.

Still playing, is the hushed sound of his frantic voicemails, the tens, the twentys that he sent so long ago. I don't give them a scrap of attention, and just get to digging into the desk drawer as small warm tears dampen my cold cheeks.

Under papers, under pens, under mounds of useless shit... is the most un-useless thing I have, the only object I'll ever care about. Noodle's geisha box. The slowly fading little birds and flowers. The broken leg that never got fixed, and probably never will. With trembling hands, I take it and hold it to chest, try to salvage something. Salvage what isn't there.

I hold it close, and I cry, and I remember that nothing will ever be here.

Nothing. .

It's all over, my life's credits have already rolled down the silver screen, and now I'm just waiting in the dark for the sequel that isn't going to come.

Everything I've ever had going for me is over. It's all gone, empty. My movie has ended.

_"I have been with you for a long time now." Death tells me. But somehow, I already knew this. This was already clear, and I could always feel death by me. Behind me beside me, within me._

_I watch the sand and sigh. "I know."_

_"... Are you afraid?" It asks in a hush, curdled voice._

_I tell the truth. The truth I've faced for a while now. "No."_

In a moment of bitter truth, I raise my head from the depths and bite my lip, rubbing a wet eye. This dreams, they've been trying to tell me! It's been in my face all along!

Death has been with me for a long time... _And it's finally ready to take me_. _I'm ready to go._

I'm expired, I'm done. I'm finished, just my body doesn't think so.

I'm already dead inside... So why deny my body any longer? Why waste time in a world I don't want to be in, can't I just do myself this one favor? This one little thing that will wash away my pain and leave me clean? In peace?

Yes. Yes, I can... And I won't deny myself any longer. There is nothing left for me here, my purpose if I had one is over, failed, gone. There's nothing for 2D, nothing for Stuart. Just a dark hole that waits for me to make a choice, waits for a trigger, waits for a rope. My decision. And it's finally here.

_I'm going to kill myself._ And everything will be over... I can finally, _really _sleep... It will be my goodbye, my passage into the road into the sky, up to those burning pearls in the night... Yeah... _My goodbye_.

With my quivering choice, my heart starts to run faster, but seems to slow down with the lessening pain that begins to leave when I realize everything will be okay. I almost need to assure myself.

"It's okay." I breathe through tears to myself. "It's all okay, we're going to be alright... _It's all over now_..."

My jaw quivers as a crickety breath escapes my pained chest. I'm ready. I'm going to do this.

The first step will be a note, and the first step will always be a note. Anyone who doesn't leave a note isn't doing it right, and I'm going to do this right down to my very last breath. So I pull out a scrap of yellow paper, from that very same drawer, and I get to writing... Only nothing comes. Nothing at all.

I sit shaking, for ten, maybe twenty minutes and nothing comes to mind. No deep intellectual poem, or lullaby, nothing like Kurt Cobain or any of the better Rockstars had. Dear god, I can write songs, but not a suicide note?

The only thing is sorry. The only thing that I wanna write, the only thing I feel right now. What I want the people to hear me say, is sorry. How sorry I'm going to be, the guilt... My mother, my _mum._ Surely she'd understand, right? How I just can't, couldn't, do this anymore... She'll cry for me, sure... But she'll get over it, they all will!.. I'm not her baby anymore, this is my decision.

And who'll clean me up? Who'll be the one to scrub my blood from the floor, to wash my brains from the rug and carry me away? Who will find me after a few days, rotting on the ground? Who will tell my parents?... The only thing I can think of is sorry.. And I'm _so_.. _so sorry_. So it will do.

_Sorry for the mess_ I scribe in small letters with a hand that doesn't even want to function. I gaze at the letters through blurry eyes and watch them, jagged and true on the paper. Soon to be decorated with drops of my own blood. Will they keep it? Throw it away, put it in a museum? No... Surely something so miniscule isn't important enough.

_Sorry for the mess_

That will be it. As perfect as it's going to get. The second step is the call. Just a call to my parents, just to say I love them... Give them the closure they'll only realize they've had when they get the news. Thinking of it brings a painful stop in my heart.

My fear still blocks me from going back for the cellphone, so I find the home phone and shakily dial my parents phone number. One ring, two rings three rings, a few more, and a warm answering machine message from _Rachel and David Pot. _Maybe it's better that they didn't answer.

_Please leave a message_ Mum says after a few introduction to goodbye words. _Please leave a message_

And I do. "Mum." I say, trying as hard as my body will let me to convert back to a normal voice for a moment. My voice still hovers over choking sniffles. "Dad... I love you guys... So much.. Please forgive me. And don't call back. I love you... _I'm so sorry_."

The normal voice wasn't very succesful. By the end of it I was nearly in sobs, but how normal can you act in your last few minutes on earth? How normal do I even want to act? Second step, check.

The third step is simple. Die. Not much more to it, just a sweet, short death. The best part, saved for last. Below where the geisha box was, there's a heavy 45 caliber pistol, used for emergency's only, and this is the only thing close to an emergency I've ever needed it for.

This will be my way out, my exit ticket. I dig for it for a moment, and it sits almost rusting underneath papers. Fully loaded. Fully ready for whatever criminals come. Today I'm the criminal. I pick it up like a small child.

It feels so new, so shiny, so wonderful... But so cold. I run the pads of my my sweaty fingers over the smooth barell and leave a sweat line on the shiny cold material. I go on to feel the trigger, the head... Just telling it what to do. Getting to know it. My last friend.

_"Please kill me." _I whisper to it. "_Please don't play around with brain damage survival or anything like that, okay?"_

I'd like to believe it tells me okay, even gives me a fucking kiss on the cheek. Sings me a lullaby. But it just sits there and plays the gun it is. All it is, not a friend, not a foe. Just the pistol that's going to be my ticket past the credits on the silver screen.

_*Knock Knock Knock*_

Gun in my slippery fingers, I whip my head to the front door where someone's so rudely decided to interrupt my last minute on earth.

"Go away!" I shout. "Busy!"

_*Knock Knock Knock*_

"FUCK OFF!" That may have been a bit harsh, but do I really care? It's time. It's time to go. Time for goodbye. There's no other moment, this isn't going to wait! This is my decision, and mine alone. And so I begin. Kiss the barrel. Safety off. Memories. Tears lining down my face, tears everywhere. Sudden regret. Brushing it off. Barrel in my mouth, pointing towards the brain. Finger on the trigger...

I can't do it. My finger, it won't go... I try again, but it won't. I can't do this to them, to anyone! My family... my friends... Are a few little voicemails going to end me? That quick?

"Come on." I mutter through the gun in my mouth. "Just do it. FUCKING DO IT!"

My family... My friends. The friends I don't have, the family that will forget me eventually. WHAT DO THEY CARE? This, this _one thing_ is about me, can't I have this? I _HATE_ myself, I hate everything. I just want it all to go away, I want to float away... Cure myself of myself... So here it goes. Finger on the trigger... Kiss the world goodbye...

Hold on though. What's that smell, and why is there all of the sudden green smoke everywhere, when did I say that could happen? This isn't how it's supposed to happen. Am I dead already? And why do I feel so...sick.

The room quickly fills up with a sea of thick, greenish smoke that radiates a sickening oily smell that dizzies me. Almost makes me forget.

My brain seems to grow in my head, as everything around me pulsates, everything inside me. The lining of my stomach just wants to crawl up through my throat and jump out my mouth. Where am I? My eyes just might be spinning in my skull.

_What the hell is happening to me..._

Do I escape? Do I- M-move on? Everything is... dancing, and swaying. I think I'm already dead, or _dying_. And... do I- do I really want to die? Is this my life? Is this death?

**VOTE: Badum badum! Time to vote again.**

**Should 2D:**

**A: Try to get out of the apartment**

**B: Carry on**

**NOTE**_**: (slight spoiler)**_** Okay, obviously he's not going to die. What rest of the story would I have than? So just know, either choice you pick, he's going to live. :D**

**Vote away, and tell me what you think!**

**MOAR NOTE: I know, I know. You guys miss Murdoc :( I do too, but a certain certain Satanist will be coming back _very very_ soon, along with some un-answered questions :O**


	37. 37: Truth, and the Pinkish Beach

**Chapter 36: Truth, and the Pinkish Beach**

This must be how it feels to be one of those bees that get sucked into summer-time-only wasp traps. Disguised cleverly as your home, but set and rigged to trigger a slow and painful death. Not quick and painless like you'd i don't think bees tend to commit suicide, even if everything around them has been reduced to an un-touchable mush, or it's just too hot in the summertime.

Hold the phone, I'm literally getting _throttled_ _to death _by my OWN air, in my OWN apartment, and I'm thinking about bees in the summertime? I mean jesus christ, look at the air! There's practically air shrubs of this thick green liquid gas swirling about the air, and I can _taste_ it for fucks sake. Throbbing erupts in my brain as the smog begins to poke harder through my nostrils, and up to my brain and throat and every place it really shouldn't be. This... this is going to _kill_ me!...

But... But isn't that what I wanted? My own death? I peer quietly down at the wet barrel kissing the inside of my mouth. I adjust it again, point it to the brain. Don't want any missing, now do we?

All's it takes, stu... One flick of that shiny trigger, and I'm scott free. Off life's market, off god's shit list, off my _own_ fucking shit list. I'll be swimming in the stars, but six feet underground, a silver drop wedged deep into my useless brain. The thought of that bullet resting peacefully in my dead head... It brings a certain sweetness to my mind, a happiness, a soon to be serenity... I could be happy. We could _all _be happy. I could A swift kick of pain to the left half of my brain sends me to the window. Air, I need _air._..

And those towers outside this thin sheet of lovely glass. _Damn_, do they sparkle, and _damn, _do they stink of precious tags. Beautiful works of spray painted dreams on shitty walls... I can look at them sparkle all I need to, but pain still bugs at my insides... I can't die in pain. I need out of here, I'll die later... _But not like this._..

Come on, can't I get the hell UP!?.. But... it's so wonderful outside. So unique, so right out of a picture... _So ugly, so sweet._... GET UP YOU DAFT BASTARD, GET UP! GET OUT OF HERE!... But why do I need to? Can't I just... stay?

***CRACK***

I don't know... But the surface of this window feels quite lovely on my crashing head.

This was not my plan.

My plan, if I'd even had one, was to wake up to nothing, not to wake up at all! My plan was a short, simple death. My plan, however, was not to close my sick eyes for a moment and open them a moment later to find myself in a dark cramped area: Hot, and smelling like my own feet. How wonderful.

How did I get here? You might as well ask yourself, because my answer is just as great as anyone elses. But shitty, rotten luck seems close enough an answer. And where am I? That's another one, the question for all the pounds in the world. Just where the fuck am I, besides a smelly little box that only wants to fit my feet, but gladly takes me in a hunched, uncomfortable ball. This position is not my suit.

I notice my hands wrapped around something. Something not to large, something not to small, something mine, something borrowed. The geisha box, and _not_ the gun. Those were the two things in my hands when I passed out, so why does only the box stay? Maybe I just didn't let go of it, and that's well I guess...

So how do I get out of here? What, am I just left to rot in this little shit bungalow? I don't think so. So I push to save myself, and my strength must really love me today. Something like a hard, leathery hatch kicks open to allow what must be the sun (or some other form of crazy drastic light) to force rape my eyes. The air is like soup: Thick, hot, and dangerous feeling. Except soup doesn't ever really feel dangerous, except if you burn your tongue on it.

Abandoning the useless subject of soup and how it relates to the air, my hand plays umbrella, and salutes just over my eyes that stay only slivered open under the flame in the sky. Unlike the sun that seems to just die and come alive when it wants to back home, the sun wherever we are is much alive, and ready to beat my arse with its rays. But I can't look away.

I mean, it's like I've started a staring contest with the sun, and it _really _wants to win, and it _really really _wants to fry my eyes in my skull for breakfast. I'd better quit looking than. The alternative to looking at the sun, is pink.

This whole area, everything is just a pink blur, but when my eyes focus in it's much more, and much less. Out of the pink blur, has been carved a beach. A _pink_ beach, bearded by a vast flow of wide ocean that gives no sign of other land. And docks draping over the water, and- and a sailboat in the distance, and a fucking _mini plane_: Black, dirty looking, "_23 degrees 23.6' W_" it's got written in important looking white on the side. Even... even palm trees? Where am I that PALMTREES are growing?

Yep, it's definitley time to investigate this area. Up from the box, and my back is nearly glued to it by my own backsweat. Eugh. Despite the dire heat, I shake because WHAT THE FUCK that's why... How in the hell did I get here, and who did it? My bare feet soon enough discover that the hot sand isn't sand _at all_, but yet some hard, shiny surface. Err... okay? When I take my eyes around... well, it looks like quite a paradise. Who kidnaps someone to put them in paradise?.. I think I've got an idea...

But that's a poppycock idea, that is! He's miles away from wherever I am, sulking and drinking and being a dumb fuck, wallowing in his own well deserved misery. What I need to do now is find out where I am, and how to leave, not worry about what _he _is doing. Stairs. There's a set of stairs leading up to a silvery platform, just peeking over the- HOLY SHIT WHAT IS THAT?

A lump of great pink land, or a growth or something, it just sits and reaches for the sky, tall in all it's soaring glory. A baby blue sky frames it, scattering clumps of dreamily floating clouds here and there. And up on top of this great pink lump? Who the hell knows, all I can see is the stairs. Is someone... _in_ there? Is there an inside at all?

Well screw this crappy piece of land, I'm taking myself up those stairs, and I'm finding out just what in the blazes this situation is. As I climb the stairs, the island grows wider in my vision. It's quite beautiful, actually... But I'm not supposed to be here... I'm... supposed to be _dead._ That was my place, not here. Well, soon enough my little spiritual grovel is done, and so are the stairs. A bit deeper into this giant pink rock is a large metal door that hints of being not so easy to open. Little box in my arms, I prepare a fist to knock. But why should I be knocking, I'm the one who's been _kidnapped_, here.

So I just pry at the handle, and it comes open alot dreamier than I expected. Again, my small strength prevails. Behind the heavy door, the sunlight is swallowed and killed by a dark, dank room that reeks of fish and motor oil. Everything sort of rubs off a dark greenish hue, but what everything? I can't even see nothing in here.

But just to my thinking, a small ceiling light flickers about until just enough to outline the image of a small man in a white tuxedo with a gameshow host haircut and squinty eyes... This.. is my kidnapper?

"Umm..." I begin, a curious finger picking at my scalp. "hello"

"THE LIFT, BOSS!" His ear numbing voice is sandpaper in my ears, and it nearly rockets me to the ground.

"Agh!" I grunt, putting a hand to my ears. "What the hell? Listen, I-"

"THE LIFT!" He repeats, not any more so mellow. "THE LIFT, BOSS!"

He gestures a short arm to a scuffed up dirty elevator lift opening. This must be what he's talking about.

"Alright?" I ask awkwardly. I become unsure that this man is the culprit. "What about it-"

"THE LIFT!" He continues. "ENTER THE LIFT!"

"Okay!" I give in, developing somewhat of a fear from this little man. "Okay, okay! I'll go... jeez... But where am I-"

"THE LIFT!"

"Yup. figures." I pick the up button, and the un-busy doors greet me with a joyful ding. It's a tube-ish room, this lift. Tube-ish, and graffiti doused with words I don't pay attention to. The panel shows a few buttons indicating rooms somewhere, but I mindlessly pick _STUDY_-_STUDIO_, and the lift makes a techy cough like noise, so I guess I'm off. I feel the ground lift off, and here I go.

Not long after I'm in, I'm arrived, and the ding of an elevator bell isn't heard under the whizzing and whirling of some mechanical device, along with some other metaly clanks and clanks... Someone must be up here?...

The door is opening... and they _are. _My mouth gapes open in utter shock. Someone _is_ here.

But not just a someone in particular. A him. A lanky man who's grown lankier, and adopted a sickly skin colour. Where pieces of chub used to be, it's hardened into some kind of muscle, but I can only see that on his back, because he's hunched over something on a coffetable in front of a window, something draped by a shiny black tarp. He works away at it with long arms that would be lanky if it weren't for the small bits of muscle lining them. Murdoc... He almost looks... so _beautiful._

But not, because he's a fucking MURDERER! And I should have known... He couldn't just leave me alone, nope. Just had to take me AGAIN, to do GOD KNOWS WHAT to me... Oh fuck, what's he gonna do to me? What does he want with me?

"Fuck!" He mutters in rage at the tarp as he works under it. "Come on you, work damn it! Water damage.. What a crop of shit."

On the word shit, the tarp flutters out of position by action of his hands. The tarp is tossed aside... He wasn't just repairing a T.V or something. It's Noodle, but not, and for a split second I thought it was her. For a generous milisecond of time, she was alive again. For the second time. And it hurts. It hurts to think she's okay again, and it hurts to see what IS noodle, with a stomach full of WIRES. I've never been so confused in my life.

But than again, there she is. Noodle, but not Noodle, flopping and jolting her limbs like some sort of mini-exorcism, torso opened, and spilling out a mess of disconnected wires. He fiddles with them, he tweaks them or something, I can't even see, or comprehend any of this. Just let my eyes observe his repair as my jaw practically hits the floor in raw shock. A lifeless Noodle begins to click and and clank and whur.

"*CCCCRKKKK* LOADING. FAILED." She buzzes in Noodle's stolen voice. "TRANS-... Johnny Rotten, or John Lydon, his real name, was born in London, 1956-"

"Damn you!" Murdoc growls. "Picking up documentaries again. Be of use and work, won't you,doll?"

She just twitches and spites him again. "*CLICK WHHHHZZZ* The sex pistols, being as prolific as they are- *WHHH*.. INTRUDER DETECTED."

She's noticed me! He doesn't see me yet, but he will if that thing, whatever it is, doesn't quiet up! Shit, what's he going to do to me? What do I do? A ship in a glass bottle calls out to me from a corner table. I grab it quickly and it shakes in my hands. I hold it like a weapon and stand ready, setting the music box safely down somewhere.

"Huh." Murdoc shakes his head. "Intruder detected. Puh. Bands these days and their screwball names."

I get closer. I haven't the idea why, but I do. Fear drives me over shakily with my weapon.

"Shall I *WRRR* Disarm?" The thing on the table buzzes.

"No you hunk of useless machinery, there's nobody here! YOU'RE BROKEN! Just sit back and shut up so I might repair you in peace, huh?"

"Disarming intruder." She clicks. From nowhere I can see, what looks like a black marine shot gun erupts into her hands. It faces me as she raises it in professional position, and the barrel looks me in the eye. I could let it kill me. Everything could be alright now, I could just stand still and let the shell kiss me goodbye, through the skull and goodnight. But I don't. I run for them with the bottle in my hand and everything happens so quickly. So fast...

"Put that thing down!" He grumbles. Still didn't notice me until now. His eyes catch sight of mine, and we look at each other and I just want to cry. He grabs it quickly by the barrel and jerks it back. She still fires.

_*Pingsh* _

The sound of a shell hitting some sort of flesh is rusty, and than almost juicy or squishy as it signals hitting a piece of meat. I'm not sure what it hit until now. She looks down at him and figures she's just screwed up big by that look on his face. And the look on his... His eyes are widened to full circles as he tries to swallow a glump of pain by biting his lip. But nope.

"YOU BARMY PIECE OF METALIC TWIT! LOOK WHAT YOU DID TO MY FUCKING FOOT!" He roars, and by instinct I look down at his red seeping pinky toe, that seems to have disappeared. Woah. She shot off his _fucking_ toe. He whines and growls harsh words at her as I shake and stutter in confusion and fear. Taking a moment to remember that I hate him, and that he's probably soon to kill me anyways. So what do I do? What the hell do I do?

With his profusely bleeding foot still in his hand, he takes no break from his rage to look over to me and finally realize I'm there, besides that glance a moment ago.

"2D-"

*CRASH* But it's far too late. Nerve and fear whispered in my ears, and as soon as he turned to talk to me the bottle came crashing down on his head in a flurry of glass and wooden ship parts. His eyes stay awake for a moment as he looks into me and mumbles something about flamingo droppings, and crashes full force to the floor. He curls up like a salted slug and lyes there in a lack of conciousness. I turn to the noodle-thing-whatever the hell it may be, and try to almost ask it for help, but it's already ran off in a mad panic, sparking and jerking on her way out the door.

He's down there on the floor, without the spark of life, but he's alive. Alive and asleep in all of his disgusting glory. I'd almost felt bad at first, but now seeing him in pain sleep on the ground like a tired child, helpless, bleeding nub of a pinky toe. I almost feel good. Great, in fact! He was up to no good, I put it to a stop, and he's still alive. It's not like I've killed him.. But..err..

What now?

He's alseep now. Like a little baby, breathing softly and quietly with the occasional snortle. Yeah, like a little baby... A baby handcuffed to a piece of stair railing. Yeah, that's right! I found some handcuffs (Murdoc is a sick fuck) in a drawer, and there he is. Quiet when he needs to be.

His breathing has a sort of pattern. Like soft, than heavy with little spaces in-between. I listen to it and dread every moment of it as I wrap the last few strips of gauze around the bleeding toe stub, and pat it down with medical tape. In the bathroom, I'd found some medical supplies, and reasoned with myself why I should even use them. Why I shouldn't just let him bleed to death?

The only real reasons hover softly in the back of my mind and I told them to go away, but they're still there, and they're sick, and they all have something to do with love and friendship that aren't there anymore. But I still mend the toe, with the bits and pieces my mum's told me about severed body parts. I couldn't find the toe, so stitching was out of the question.

It's finished now. And I watch him and only now does the fiery hate come back. You killed Noodle you sick bastard. It might not have been direct, but her blood stains your hands and I won't let you wash it off.

He wakes with several little jolts, finally with one big one. He opens his eyes in a tired panic and looks around.

"Wha... Ughhn my fucking toe." He groans tiredly, but comes to. "What the hell?"

In my hand now, I hold a new weapon: A frying pan. Because when do frying pans not work? I stand readily as he notices me.

"2D?" He asks with a questioning look, but leaves it off. "Nevermind that. The cyborg's locked my hands up, go find a key."

But I just graze him with my angry eyes. "That's the greeting I get?"

He takes a break from struggling and looks back up with a bored look on his face. "Well did you expect a welcome card? I'm all out, NOW GET THE KEY!"

I shake my head and laugh a painful sad laugh. "Three years. Three god damned years from killing our little girl, and this is how you welcome me to wherever the fuck we are?"

"What?" He raises an eyebrow and speaks in shock. "Ki-... What? I DIDN'T KILL SHIT, MY TOE IS SEVERED FROM MY FOOT, GO GET THE FUCKING KEY-"

"I LOCKED YOU UP!" I shout in anger, trying to be cooler than I actually feel. In reality I'm scared to death. "Tha- that _thing _whatever it is, she ran off."

He rolls the eyes that used to love me and sigh. "Okay. So she ran off. Now would you like to explain WHY IN THE NAME OF BAST YOU'VE CHAINED ME UP TO A FUCKING STAIRWA-"

"Shut up." I kick him sharply in the leg and surprise even myself. I step back at my anger. If he wasn't cuffed up, I'd be running away.

"Well." He grumbles, almost laughs actually. "Somone's grown a pair down there, now hasn't he?"

A few years ago that would have been bedroom talk. Now it's insults.

"Why'd you do it." I ask suddenly.

"I said it before." He hisses. "I'll say it again. I didn't do SHIT."

"YOU'VE KILLED HER." I spit, and hold myself from tears.

"Who-" His face freezes as realization of _her _must hit him. "Oh.. Shit, listen-"

"No, YOU LISTEN-"

"NO YOU LISTEN, ALRIGHT?" A tone of desperate anger submits in his voice, and I know things are about to get serious. I try to object nervously.

"I've been trying to say this for THREE YEARS, SO YOU'RE GOING TO SHUT THAT HOLE IN YOUR FACE AND PERK UP TO LISTEN, ALRIGHT?"

Every ounce of courage I had is flushed, and I turn white with a gulp and a slight nod.

He gives a hearty sigh. "2D, sit."

"I'm not sitting anywhere"

"SIT." He brings the tone back, and it scares me, so I do. I sit carefully, and far from him on the floor. And I wait.

"Okay?" I ask when he doesn't talk, and sits there motionless. "are you-"

"It was a hoax." His voice is thin and solid, like if you stepped on it or talked over it, it would crack and melt like ice.

I open my mouth quietly, but still talk with subtle rage. "What was a hoax."

"El manana." He shakes his head. "She's... I know what it looked like, and it really did... But you gotta trust me on this one... It was fake.. I-..." He breaks off with another sigh.

I shake my head and drumb my fingers tiredly. "You know I don't believe you. I want details."

"FINE, I'm getting to it!... Do... do you remember..."

He stops again because of the word _remember_. Remember means memories, and memories are going to be a harsh topic.

"Do you remember that night you asked me about Jimmy Manson, in that alleyway..."

Yeah. I blew your shaft and we almost fucked in a car, but you had to leave. But I only _think _that and nod.

"That meeting, when I was talking to him... Those couple months...He-..."

Getting him to talk is really a hassle.

"spit it out." I sigh.

"He wanted to kill Noodle, okay?!... shit."

And I do remember... And it all makes sense, his nervousness, those meetings... It's the perfect ugly puzzle.

"And..." I stutter, stumbling on sadness. "You- you let him DO IT?"

He shakes his head quickly. "No I didn't let him DO IT, who do you think I am? I'm not about to go off killing my band mates, this band is all I wanted in the world, why the hell would I just _let _him kill her?"

"Well, they did!" I snap. "They did, and now she's gone."

"No, she may be _gone._.." He says mysteriously, with a spark of mischief in his eye. "But she's not _dead_."

"Don't do this." I shake my head. "Stop it. I've already... I'm over this, don't try to trick things around, I-"

"It was Manson.. in the windmill." He speaks quietly, almost exited. "I used my own clever trickery and switched things around. Manson was in the windmill, he went down with it, Noodle parachuted safley off the island. Manson's dead, _Noodle _however, is perfectly alive, somewhere out the-"

"STOP!" I break. "YOU'RE NOT FUNNY, QUIT IT! STOP WITH THE LIES-"

"I'M NOT LYING, YOU DULT. He fights back.

"PROVE IT!"

"Okay." He shrugs. Huh?

"What?" I ask. "You have proof?"

And I'll save you the bunch here. On Murdoc's phone, there is a saved video, and he shows it to me. A peachy smooth sky plays background for a lanky young girl wielding a machine gun, just crazying that thing all over the place... And... It's... It's her. It's really truly her! A porcelain like cat mask stays over her face, but it's her. I can tell the same way you can find your child in a crowd. Instinct.

A silent tear rolls down my eye as I watch, and wipe it away.

"How did you get this." I mumble. "And... and where is she?"

"How should I know." He scoffs. "That's just released footage."

I awkwardly place the phone that I'd had to slide just as awkwardly out of his pocket, back in.

"Point is-" He begins. "She's alive, I never killed her, and I never _meant_ to, either."

My sun is back in the sky, but it still sets. She's alive... but where is she? Where is our girl, where has she gone? And...she's been alive all this time?"

"Why didn't you tell me?" I murmur to him.

"You wouldn't _let_ me." He hisses. "Did you _not _get my two hundred phone calls, stuart? Oh, just misplaced them maybe? No. I called you for a year. A fucking year, I kept calling"

"It was a month." My whisper is full of pain and rage as I look to the ground.

"It was a year." He protests. "And you didn't think to listen, or answer, so here we are. I resorted to this... So thanks. Really, just thanks."

This guilt, this feeling boiling in the pit of my stomach... I've never felt so bad in my entire life... Mum was right. I threw away love, I snubbed it. It's all my fault. We could have been something, and I threw it away without even listening.

And I just look up at him. Those hands, those eyes, that everything that used to be mine. He looks back up at me and his eyes see mine... And I want them. And... and those lips...

"I'm sorry." I murmur, and I just go for it because I fucking need this. I get closer, and lean his lips into mine and everything stops for a moment that feels like the rest of my life. He tastes like hate, and scotch, and cigarettes, and I don't even care because right now if I had to pick that would be my favourite flavour. He doesn't stop me for a few short seconds, and than starts mumbling angrily before shoving me off with his shoulders. Only now do I realize the only reason he didn't stop me before is because he's handcuffed to the stairs.

"What's wrong with you?!" He asks. "FUCK, WHAT WAS THAT?

"Err.." I mumble. "I don't know, isn't this what you want? Isn't this where we left off from? Making it work?"

"Where we left off.." He repeats me quietly. "I- Just- How about no- This is... Listen, things are over now, okay? It's for the best, you know it is."

What? How am I the rejected one? I thought... but he'd said...

"...Right." I agree, with disappointment in my heart but agreement in my voice. "Force of habit. Sorry."

So that's it. He's not mine anymore. And why did I just do that? Not five minutes ago, I hated him, now he's making me tingle? What is this?

"Okay..." He sighs. "Now where are the keys?"

"What keys?" I ask.

"The keys to the cuffs."

Uh oh... I don't seem to recall them having keys. "I err... I didn't think they had any keys."

The look on his face... This is going to be a long day.

**AN: TO BE CONTINUED! And all your other unanswered things are coming, I promise!**

**Review and tell me what you think :)**

**Thanks for reading!**


	38. 38:Locked up, Locked down

**Chapter 38: Locked up, Locked down.  
PS: sorry for late uploading! :P**

Wow, that look on his face. That _"excuse me, what the fuck?" _look that I know all too well by this point. The narrowed eyes, the dropped jaw, he's got em'. All down to the pursed lips that slowly unbuckle themselves to false-calmly mutter

"The keys." He murmurs. "The keys... to the fucking _handcuffs."_

A nervous laugh escapes me as I point a finger to the helpless bloke on the floor. "Ha... those keys. So... there were keys?"

"YES THERE WERE KEYS!" He roars. "YOU DON'T CUFF SOMEONE WHEN YOU DON'T KNOW WHERE THE KEYS ARE, WHAT ARE YOU, STUPID?"

"I dunno!" I defend shakily. "I panicked, I thought you were going to... to.. Ermm-"

"To what?" He asks. "Drive a shovel through your skull? Pick you apart limb by stupid limb? Grind your fingers into mashed potatoes?"

"Well, they can't be potatoes if they're fingers, Murdoc." I point out, like a nice polite young man. He doesn't seem to appreciate it.

"I DON'T CARE IF THEY'RE FUCKING SUMMER SQUASHES, GO FIND THE KEY."

"But- But I-" I struggle with basic words while watching _him _struggle with escaping, which he isn't going to do without the key I don't have.

"GO FIND THEM!"

"But-"

"NOW!"

Murdoc is intimidating... And I mean like _really _intimidating. So of course, I agree.

"Alright!" I put my hands up to try to calm him down, but how much are hands supposed to calm anyways? "Where do you think they might be?"

"_Gee_ I dunno, I'm only just cuffed to a stairway. Here, lemme just REMOVE myself and help you while I juggle three elephants with my penis."

Sarcasm hurts. Especially when you're really good at it.

"Okay, work with me here." I sigh as frustration bites at me. "I found them in your desk drawer, but there was no key."

"YOU WERE LOOKING IN MY DESK DRAWER?" His red face booms. "DON'T TOUCH MY STUFF."

I shift uncomfortably as he fumes in his place. "Do you want my help or not?"

His lip biting might be the only thing keeping him from bursting a tub of anger out his mouth, but he takes a deep breath and sighs. "Ask the cyborg. She usually manages stuff like that for me, I dunno."

"The cyborg... That thing I've just seen fizzling about and running wildly out the door, eh?"

"I'll explain after, just go."

Frankly right now, he scares me, so with a soft shrug I leave him mumbling in the stairway.

"Er.. hold on a second." He calls calmly. Almost mischievously. I turn only my head.

"Yeah?"

His eyes and shoulders gesture to the corner of the room. "Hand me those bottles."

I turn to spot a couple of bottles, waiting to take away someones pain. Grey goose and a half empty bottle of Hennessey. Maybe he's had a lonely weekend.

"Why?" I scratch my head and watch the bottles like they're prone to do something. They don't, and he just gets all moody again.

"Why?" He repeats me. "Why? Because I'm sacrificing them to the almighty _chupacabra._ I'M DRINKING THEM, TOSSER."

"Right, right." In a small spurt of fear, I quickly hurry them over.

"How are you going to drink them?" I ask.

"Fuck you, I'll find a way." He hisses, and the _fuck you _part wasn't really needed, if you ask me. Just as quick as I was there, I'm off again, in slight fear of Murdoc's immobile wrath.

Out the door, safe. So I'm to talk to this... this _thing_ that thinks its noodle, and try to get it to give me keys? _Why _in the name of god almighty has he got a clone thingy mucking up the premises? And what premises _Is this _exactly?

The questions fight with each other, but none of them win. There are no answers, and something tells me Murdoc isn't going to be gracious enough to answer them for me. So I follow a series of clinks and clanks and buzzes. Where does that get me? Back to the lift. It all seems to be coming from under the floor, and I really hate to detective right now, but detective is what I'll be...Okay, not really. I'm just finding the stupid robot.

To my luck, there's no small man yelling things at this lift door. Just me and a door, a door and me. It opens its arms, and takes me inside, only to close them again and leave us to go wherever we please. I choose the down button, and there we go. I get that little wift you get in your gut when a lift goes down, and soon enough to please me, the door cracks open to whack me with a musty metal-like smell that surrounds what must be the power room, because of all these little cords hanging from things, and all these big machines with lights like eyes, flickering from asleep to awake.

I watch them for a moment, I watch them be indecisive and my brain takes this moment to be deep and heartfelt. I'm like those lights right there. I'm indecisive. My lights flicker on and off and no one watches but me... I could compare myself to a lot of things, actually. My head is like that game that all the girls played in elementary school. They picked up the flowers, and they slowly tore them apart.

_He loves me, He loves me not_

But than theres me...

_I love him, I love him not, I hate him, I want to fucking strangle that stupid neck of his, I love him again._

Now imagine that game in the elementary schools. I'd bet-

"Can I help you?" A voice like a broken rubber duck pairs with a round doughy face that peeks from behind one of the machines.

"Oh. Hello." I greet him. "And who are you than?"

"Dave." He holds out an oil caked palm. I shake it like a good man, and rub the black grease off discreetly.

"You must be that blue mopped kid that ol'bugger was talking about dragging in. He caught you, did he?"

"I guess so." Behind the smile I give him is shame in my own stupidity. Kidnapped. Again.

"Well, what can I do you for? Batteries? It's that shot outlet again, in't it? Blast."

I shake my head. "Naw, I'm err... Okay, this is gonna' sound real weird, but have you seen a girl walking around here with dark hair and uh... wires poking out of her stomach?"

He stares for a second, but my question doesn't seem to faze him all too much. "The cyborg? Yeah, she comes down here once in a while for charging. Nice girl, she is. Lets me use her as a radio sometimes. She's just over there?"

I look to his gesture, and how did I not notice a woman with a few dozen cords poking around at her? She breathes slowly, and moves back and forth while she stands. Almost like sleep.

And as much as I'd love to chat, I really need those keys.

"You know where Murdoc keeps his keys?" I ask.

"In his pocket, I s'pose." Dave laughs. "Naw, I'm just fooling ya' mate. Actually, I've complied a little stock of the keys I seen just lying around the floor. That bloke ain't so good with his items, you know? Here, Lemme fetch it for ya."

So I do. I let him fetch it while I sit and watch the buttons again. On. Off. . Dave comes back though, and with a box...Wait, a BOX? Yes... a box. He bounces back in that little wife-beater with an open shoebox in hand. And in that shoebox? Keys. Keys, and keys, and keys, and keys, and keys..

"These.. these are them?" I ask. "All of them?"

"More or less." He nods.

More or less... Well, more or less doesn't exactly help me here, now does it? Well than... off to get my arse kicked.

_/

Unless it's a box of brandy filled chocolates, I don't think Murdoc is much interested, or pleased for that matter. He just looks at this box as I drop it to his feet.

He's expressionless as he opens his mouth. "What..what is this..."

"Your key." I smile sheepishly.

"No." He shakes his head as his face slowly develops cold anger. "This is _keys. _I asked for a _key._"

His voice slurs and slips around like he's spoken them with a slickened tongue. His face is droopy and tired and half emotionless, just sagging dough on a skull. Drunken.I turn to the bottles, and find one of them empty, the other half full.

"How did you drink those?" I ask, a bit dumbfounded. "You've got no hands for it."

"For me to know and you to zip your trap shut. Now where-'hic' is my key? C'mon, give it here."

"Somewhere in here?" He takes my words and looks down at the box.

"How many k-keys are in there?"

"Dunno."

"WELL 'hic' YOU'RE ABOUT TO. GET TO IT MAN, C'MON!... And er, before you do that, would you mind pouring the rest of that Grey goose? Ofcourse you wouldn't."

Half hesitant for his own good, I pick up the bottle and awkwardly put the tip in his mouth (dirty minds beware), just sort of bottle feeding him. And he takes it like a hungry infant, so in less than a moment it's gone. I toss it aside and get to the first key, going behind him and twisting it in the lock. No go.

"That's one." I mutter. "Didn't work."

"S-so keep trying th-them.." He stumbles and the scent of his wasted breath drifts into my face.

"You know you really shouldn't drink so much." I warn him.

"You know you really shouldn't be such a faggot."

That may have just been because he's drunk, but it still hurts a little. Still, I go on.

"I'm not." I mumble to myself, as I try on the third or fourth key.

"please." He scoffs. "You were eyeing me like a sack of potatoes."

"Who eyes a sack of potatoes?" I ask as the fifth key fails me. He shrugs.

"I-I dunno. Th-theres nothing wrong with being gay I suppose, Stuart. _You _just-sh-shouldn't be."

"That made absolutely no sense." I sigh.

"Neither do you." He slurs. "Wh- what about that guy in the bar? The one I had to-to save your sorry be-hind from? Y-... you were just going to let him do you the dirty deed. You didn't even object, my friend.-"

"You're not talking about this." I tell him as I fiddle with yet another failing key. "I wasn't myself. Roofs' can do things to a person, you know that."

"Right." He finally agrees. "Right, yeah, o-okay. I mean everybody gets touched onc-once in their lives, right? Even I."

"Right. Wait, what?"

"Quiet, you..." He mumbles. "I'm... I'm sleeping."

And like that, he's gone. In flick of the wind, he's left me for his own head...

_Even I? What's that mean?_ But I forget it, and leave it for drunk talk.

His drunken head tips backward onto the stair railing, and he's completely out as I try on only about the seventh key. Nope.

eighth. Nope.

twelfth. Nada.

twenty fourth. No cigar.

thirtieth. Not even close.

fifty, sixty, I've lost count and it's been hours. I've no watch or clock, but I can feel it. He still lyes snoring and mumbling things I don't understand, but waking him is just about the last thing on my list that I'm about to do.

So another key, maybe. This one's rusty and brown, with hints of being old and tarnished. I try it anyways, and a whine escapes me as it slips and gets stuck inside the lock. Nope. I jerk it out and toss it aside, moving my hand to the box for another. I feel around the surface of the bottom, but it appears I've used them all. Empty.

But I check back with worry pained eyes. Just a dry old box, nothing but air inside. I give myself a calming breath that doesn't even help, and prepare the cannons. Waking Murdoc with this news. I start with carefully nudging him, like he's got some terrible disease. Well, in some cases he _is _the terrible disease. Lets see if he is today.

"Murdoc." I say in a voice that hovers on whispering. "Wake up. Come on."

His body plays dead for a moment before he shakes his head slightly and groans. "Hm? Go away darling I'm... Fighting the zookeepers."

Still asleep, or at least he's still got his head in the dream while his body wants to wake. So I nudge him harder.

"Hey!" I get louder. "C'mon, wake up!"

"What is it?" He mumbles sourly with closed eyes.

"Bad news." I tell him.

"Don't tell me. You're pregnant." He deadpans.

"Close." I joke back. "The keys didn't work. Tried em' all."

His narrowing eyes hint to a bitter soberness, and a bad hangover. It seems that the older he's gotten, the shorter his drunk-fun lasts until the hangover bites at his cheeks.

"All of them?" He hisses without the needed enthusiasm. "Every single one?... Fuck. How long has it been, what time is it?"

I take time to answer only the last question, by searching in my phone for my phone-less pocket. Empty, except for a small metal doo-hickey with what feels like little bumps on the...uh oh.

With my eyes solid to the ground, I slowly pull the key out and only than focus my eyes into it, as does Murdoc. His expression differs from mine by a long shot. After the staring, this conversation goes by rather quickly.

"That's the key isn't it." He says.

"Yup."

"You put the key in your pocket and forgot about it, didn't you."

"Uh-huh."

"Well than..." And he prepares _his_ cannons. "PUT IT IN THE FUCKING LOCK."

His final command rattles the whole room, or just me. So I do as he says and quickly slip the key in the lock. Short story shorter, it fits like a dream and the cuffs die to the ground in a single clink.

Free hands free, he brings them to his face and moves them around with a relived look on his face.

"_Finnaly_." He groans.

I trace the ground with my eyes. "So erm... I guess you're good now... Heheh."

He looks over to me and I feel his heat burning my insides. But the expected strike doesn't come, and my flinch is un-needed.

"Sorry about the cuffing..." I say. "Can I go home now?"

Hold on, stop. Yeah, I know.. Everything is okay now, why would I want to go home? Well, I want to go home because gorillaz is over. We squeezed out the rest of our fame, and we're done. Murdoc wants nothing the word _us,_and that'll have to be okay. It doesn't feel okay, but it'll have to be.

As for Noodle and Russ? When they find their way home, I'll expect them to find me, and I'll expect myself to find them. You don't just _leave _family...

..._Than what is he?_

Shake it off. I shake it away and pick up my words. "Yeah, so can I go home?"

He shrugs and twists his mouth to the corner of his face. "S'pose so."

This comes as a shock. I won't get off easy believing that he's just letting me off the hook this easy.

"S'pose so?" I ask. "Hold on Murdoc, why did you bring me here in the first place?"

"Apologies, I guess." He sighs and innocently folds his hands behind his back. "Maybe rekindle some form of friendship. But if you want to leave, 2D ol pal, be my guest."

I raise a suspicious brow. "You... you're letting me off that easy?"

"Sure." He says. "Times have changed, old friend. The tides are different and yet, so am I. If you feel you need to leave... consider it done."

So the book closes that easily? No papercuts, no hanging on words? Off? But I trust the fiend, as I've no choice. I trust him with a careful nod.

"Alright." I say.

"Alright." He repeats me. "Come with me than, to the lift."

So I follow him to that same lift, and he limps noticeably while we walk. His toe is still blown off, you know. I've gotten the bleeding to stop, but still... But this is all to perfect. Like eerily perfect, it's not supposed to be this way. I'm supposed to struggle, get beat! Why this? Why do we all too easily enter the lift and let the doors close us in?

He thumbs a button, and off we go. Avoiding looking at him is hard, but I do it. I've got to stay distant, this is afterall, the end. Before he'd mumbled something about the ride only being a moment, but this is longer than the promised moment. Quite longer. Long enough to make me wonder how low this elevator goes?

What seems like five minutes in, we stop and the door threatens to open but he turns me around by the shoulder before I'm to see whatever room we've stopped in.

"Uhh, what are you doing?" I ask.

"Nothing." He says quickly. "Just err... thought I saw your eye slide back up for a moment."

"Did it?" I ask, almost excitedly.

"Nope." He whispers and thumbs the _hold door _button on the elevator before getting even closer into my face. Okay, now I'm confused. He's either drunk, or things are about to get sexual...

"Are... are you okay?" I ask.

"Perfectly fine." He whispers into my face. "And you are?"

"...Okay." I speak softly, looking into his lips. Wondering where this is going. Wandering about, but getting lost deep inside his face. And we breathe heavily into each other, our noses nearly touching. Behind his back he fiddles with something, but my attention goes only to his face. His... his-

_Click._

My hands suddenly become unfree as he steps back and the feeling of forceful metal becomes noticable on my wrists. The cuffs.

"Wha... what is this?" I ask.

"Nothing dear." He sighs, pushing me by the tips of his fingers to my chest,out the elevator door. I tumble to my knees into an orangish hued room that sits sprinkled by my items. My clothes, my keyboards, possessions... Everything.

And I'm not getting out of here. As I look up to him with his arms crossed, and watch the world make sense, I realize everything.

"You _tricked_ me." I hiss.

"Oh?" He asks. "Did I? Oops."

How dare he. Trick me with flirtation? The bastard!

"What do you want?!" I shout. "Money? Items? What is this, where are we?"

"A cruel world, 2D my boy." He chuckles and steps back into the lift. "A cruel world."

"LET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE." I argue.

But he doesn't. He just steps back farther and laughs and lets the door close and divide us... But in those last few seconds of the door being open, I hear him speak.

"Welcome to the world of the _fucking _plastic beach."

**AN: Hey guys! Don't forget to review and tell me what you think!**

**Thanks for reading :)**


	39. 39:Sabueso The Great

**Chapter 39: Sabueso The Great**

Just in enough time for invisible fingers to snap, the lift doors part us, and ding as they go out in a form of classy evil. I'm left flat out helpless, cheek smack to the cold ground and spilling out the drool of an angry man. Angry, forget angry, lets try on _fucking pissed._

"MURDOC!" I shout for him, and my voice bounces back off the just-as-pink-as-the-stupid-floor walls, and hits me in the ears. "GET YOURSELF BACK DOWN HERE, YOU TWIT. LET ME THE HELL OUT OF HERE!"

Do I even expect a reply? Well it doesn't much matter what I expected, really, because I'm not going to get it. I'm stuck here, in this whatever this is room, I'm not even positive.

But I adjust my eyes and look around as I just lie about the dirty floor. Theres a scrappy, lazily made single bed, and there are oversized draping it that used to belong to my bed, the one from Kong. There's my posters, and my albums, and my electric organ, the one with the adjustable mic-stand, -a bit un-needed, but a pleasant option.

Everything here is painted me, painted with remnants of the shattered life that I'd lived at the studio. The things I've already said goodbye to, the items I'd decided to forget about when I woke up one drizzly morning, only to drop a can of tango to the ground in it's fizzily death when some news came from the television and hit me clear across the mind. Kong had kissed us goodbye with fiery lips, and collapsed to the ground. She'd burned down, but I can still smell her as if she really were a woman.

I can still smell it all. Every dead scent comes back to life and lingers on every lost item in here.

The mold from almost everywhere, the _aloha vanilla _airfreshner that always ended up smelling like enchiladas by the third day, that orange gooey stuff that the ghosts left everywhere, Russel's cooking, The stinkbombs that Noodle used to set off in Murdoc's Winnebago when he misbehaved, The scotch and cigarette scent that stuck to us whenever we left the spare room that Murdoc called _his_ (even though it only held an extra bed with some of his other stupid things, and he already had the Winnebago to his own.)

All the little possessions in here that cling to those scents... They're all _zombies_. Back from the dead, and here. Here _now. _And for reasons unknown, I can't stand it. I wriggle around in my sweaty cuffs like a dead worm, and I try to escape from this dead room.

It's all too weird, and I want _out. Now._

_"_HELP!" I try again for the robot thing, or Dave, or Murdoc, or _anyone _at all. "SOMEONE GET ME OUT OF HERE! I'M STUCK DOWN HERE, GET ME OUT!"

Again, no sound but the ringing of my own voice tapping the metal walls and returning itself to me.

"Git." I mutter to only myself, as I clumsily prop myself up with no such help from my hands. "Thinks he's so great with his _stupid little robot_, and his_ twitty little island_.

"Oh do I now?"

I follow the sound of his voice which has just so _graciously _entered ,with my eyes. How the-? Murdoc's voice comes from not him, but somewhere off in the ceiling. He's hiding in the vents perhaps?

"Struggling, are we?" He chuckles cockily.

"The hell?" I spit in shock. "Where are you coming from? What've you found your way into me vents now, is that it?"

He warms up in his throat with a douchey cough. "First of all, these aren't under _any_ circumstances under the sun, _your_ vents. Second of all-I'm not _in_ said vents, sir albert Einstien. It's called an _intercom_, and I've had one installed to keep your dodgy self in line. I can perfectly well hear everything you're saying... Third, My Cyborg isn't a robot, nor stupid. And neither is my island."

"Your island?" I ask. "How in which blazes did YOU get your paws on an island?"

"Questions will be answered at the end of the service, thank you." His overpowering bodiless voice jokes. "But really, anyways, to the point, would you maybe mind SHUTTING THAT WIDENED MOUTH OF YOURS?"

"I haven't been a problem." I defend. "I'm right in my line sir, as I'M TRYING TO GET OUT OF HERE."

"Try all you want." He sighs happily. "I've my own highly effective security to keep you safely-unsafely tucked away in my clutches..."

I linger on that last parts weirdness and raise an eyebrow. Apparently, so does he.

"Eherm." He clears. "For entirely hetero reasons, I'll have you know."

Entirely hetero reasons... But what reasons would those be?

I voice my thoughts. "And what reasons would those be?"

"Questions, ungrateful questions. You think you're in the bad position here? You seem to forget that not an hour ago my TOE was severed from my FOOT." His tone grows more impatient.

"I've mended it, haven't I?" I jab at his stupidity. "Even cauterized it, and used a bit of numbing solution to lessen your well deserved pain-pain that should be kicking back in soon enough, might I add- and where's my thank you?"

"Three feet up your arse hole. Go find it."

I sigh as my patience dwindles down to near nothing. "Anyways, might I go home now? If you're done being a prick, and all?"

"Come on, 2D. Have you even looked around you? Do you know where we are?"

I dig into my memory and look around the room as if it will tell me. "Uhh... Florida, U.S.A?"

He sighs in frustration. "No, you twit! Plastic beach, MY own personal world! It's... Well, it's everything! It's the music, it's the home, it's the alcohol... It's...

He hangs on dreamily and fades off. I pick up where he was. "Uhh... Is that in florida?"

"NO!" He snaps. "NOT FLORIDA YOU MANGEY-... Listen, we're pretty much in paradise. Aside from a couple of minor quirks, we're set, and we're good. This is plastic beach, baby!"

"Don't call me baby." I grumble, now less eager to spend the night under his sheets. "And what did you mean by highly effective security?"

"Check your window." He says dully, and his voice buzzes off with a loud click. Signed off, with nothing like a goodbye. He only leaves me with an answer to none of my real questions, and a burning desire to check my window.

I carefully, and with cat like balance, make my way up to my feet, and gently stalk over to the window, this round entrance to the blue that I thought was dark sky at first. With a closer look, I find that it's ocean. Deep wide ocean with nothing but trash, and fish, and a really really big eye- HOLY SHIT.

An uncontrolled scream escapes me and I tumble to the ground in effort to escape from my greatest fear, my only fear. The eye of a whale watches me tremble on the ground.

"HELP!" I block everything else with my own noise. Calling. Pleading. "MURDOC, HELP ME! COME BACK, YOU CAN CALL ME BABY IF YOU WANT TO, HELP ME!

The intercom jitters back on to send me a hysteric laugh that I'd almost miss if it weren't for the fact that there's a WHALE AT MY WINDOW.

"MUDS." I plead near tears. "IT WANTS TO EAT ME, DON'T LET IT KILL ME, GET IT-GET IT-GET IT, HEEEELLLLP-"

"Shut your bravery, _baby_." He comes back from his laughter with a tease. "But... but fuck, you should have just heard yourself."

He falls back into laughter, and the only thing I do is shiver in the despair that I'm already drowning in.

"It's not funny!" I sniff. "Make it go away, come and get me or something, it- it want's to eat me! It's going to- It's going to-"

"Cool your engines."

But... But how? My eyes give me nothing but the dark as I keep them shut tighter than anything. But I feel it watching me, and it knows my fear better than it's own children, unless it already ate them too.

"I can't!" I shake and sniffle. "Just, it's... It's right _ there, _and it's _watching me._ I can _feel _it... Help!"

"Meet sabueso, my own personal guard whale to keep you in your skates. It's simple. really. You stay here and cooperate with me, she plays nice. No harm done to you. Now lets say you're feeling adventurous, and decide to try and run off. Can you guess what seniorita subeso's going to do?"

The lump in my throat begs me not to answer, but I do. "K-..Kill me?"

"Right-O!" Murdoc cheers. "Like I've said, simple, right? Think you can manage?"

Except he didn't really get to the word manage when I've started shouting.

"YOU MANKY PIECE OF RAW SEWAGE-SHIT!" I strain my throat. "YOU'RE OFF YOUR FUCKING TROLLEY, YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST KEEP ME HERE-"

"Sabueso." He sighs. "Advertir."

On his word that I don't understand, a great roar comes from the water in this whales hiss, or yell, or something. My room begins to rattle it's very self at the whale's ground shaking noise, and the lights become indesisive, flickering on and off. Murdoc's made his point, and I sigh into the ground.

" And that was just a warning. So we're clear?" Murdoc asks.

"How does the whale know _spanish_." I whine in disbelief.

"So we're CLEAR?" He repeats.

"Yeah." I grumble-sniff. "We're _fucking _clear."

"Ahh, c'mon." The bodiless asshole complains. "Don't start your crying, this is for your own good."

"Not crying." I hardly fight. "Now if you'd be so gracious, would you mind explaining just why the fuck I'm here anyways?"

"Well..."

And that's all. That's all that I get, and the show is over because the intercom makes that same staticy goodbye noise, and he leaves me with the bedroom that knows me too well and I not knowing it well enough. Something however, tells me I'll have time to get to know it.

_/

Just as I'd said it would, the pain came back, and it came back hard. I'm told this by his walking style as he creeps painfully through the silver lift doors with his classic slouch and a new heavy limp that renders him almost undead looking. The beep bids him goodbye as the lift closes, and I watch him hobble like a mentally ill rooster.

By now, it's several hours later from earlier. Enough hours that I'd advise anyone who enters this same room not to drink from that plastic _-you tried-_ sports trophy in the corner.

"So you arrive." I say boredly, with my cheek still to the dirty floor, honestly not willing enough to try to move.

"So I have." He shrugs and shifts his lame foot awkwardly between words to throw the pain off track. "And I assume you've cleared up that attitude from your stupid self by now?"

"I haven't an attitude." I argue. "And I'm not stupid."

"Than were you smart enough to remember that the keys to those cuffs were in your back pocket this whole time?"

What?-Oh god I put the key in my pocket after I'd unlocked him, didn't I?

"You're _kidding."_ I say in disbelief.

"Check your pockets, smart one." He scoffs with a dirty look of satisfaction on his face.

I rattle my restraints behind me for his attention. "Does it look like I've the use of my hands?"

"...Right." He mutters, and the room gets a few times warmer with the awkwardness that comes complimentary with the realization of the fact that he has to fish the key out of my back pocket, which very well means touching my ass. And my pockets are _deep_.

My hair involuntarily acts as a handle, and he pulls me by it so I'm up to a stand. Than slowly enters the problem, and his hand into my back pocket.

"Don't get too comfortable." I mutter.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you." His reply comes quick and snappy, and disappears into the air just as quick as he's said it. I flinch as he fiddles with rough hands.

And the thing is I can feel everything, and describe exactly how it goes. The close to home touch of his bony fingers rifling softly but roughly through my back pocket. I'm only just praying that I don't like it, because I'm trying out this new thing called not falling for a dick face.

He slips out and it's done. The key in hand, he steps back idly and sighs.

"Now than, are you going to be a good lad and cooperate?"

"That or get eaten by a whale." I mope.

"Good." He speaks in almost a comfortable whisper as he slips back over to undo the lock. One, two, and we're there. The sweat ringed metal falls to its death and clinks to the floor as I make good use of my newly freed hands, and this means waving them about like an idiot, because hey: I can actually use them now!

"Thank god." I mutter to myself, and only myself. Murdoc though, decides to take this in offense to his Satanism.

"Why thank him?" He growls. "Thank me, I'M the one who's decided to let you free."

"You mean I can go?"

"No." He takes away my sudden glitch of excitement, and the bored expression takes hold of my face once again as I cross my arms like the tired adult I've become.

"...Well than?" I look at him like he's an annoying child. "What is it you want?"

He pushes past me and lazily plants himself to the bed, which i'm refusing to call mine.

"What do you _think_ I want?" He fiddles with his fingers and looks up to me with ambition glittering in his now dull pupils. "And its not about what I want, it's about what I need, what we _both _need."

Just in time to fall into my own thoughts, I catch myself from dangerous thoughts. I almost thought he could have been talking about.. well, _us_... But I remember my actions from earlier, and his rejection, and well... my cheeks get warm, and probably start to rose up.

"We need the music." He mutters into the distance, looking at his dreams and not me, looking for what he wants, not me... "We all need the music... Isn't that it? The world we live in, as hard as it is to admit, is never going to be perfect... Music, as it is, is the only thing in this world that will ever truly be a worthy thing to die knowing you've accomplished."

And with his speech, he gets this look in his eyes as he stops for a moment, but picks up. "And... and if you can't be worthy, and end up six feet under somewhere... than what are you? What were you, where were you, who are you? And even when we DO get some kind of title, all we are are bags of flesh that were made and designed to die. Everyone and everything that will ever be, was designed to die. But the words won't, will they? The tunes won't, will they? The music... the music is the music."

Well he closes his mouth, and that was well written. But a load of shit, and you don't see me shedding any tears.

"You're drunk." I shake my head. "And I didn't understand a word of that, because I'm _not _drunk, so if you're wanting me to get that little speech you just slapped me with, throw me some rum or something."

"An album." He says. "To dumb it up for people like you, an _album._"

I process this for a moment. Wait, no. I DON'T process this, because it makes just as much sense as a fat gymnast, and that was a bad joke, but I don't care.

"Okay." I put my finger to my chin. "So, we're going to make a new album with HALF of a band?"

"Ah-" He stops me and holds up a finger. "I've a drum machine., and the cyborg, as useless as she may seem, was build to be a guitar wielding, gun slinging, heat packing guitarist, seeing as we haven't Noodle."

Hurt sinks into my eyes, and I hope it shows. "You're... you're just going to replace Noodle that easy?"

"2D..." He sighs. "I haven't got a damned clue where she-"

"And... and Russel?" I ask. "Man, I know he ate all your Kipling slices that one time, but that's hardly a reason to replace him with a radio."

"Look, don't get so offended." He rolls his eyes at my scolding. "He's gone too. Went off his rocker or something, I dunno, but we'll be fine! I've got you, don't I?"

My face gets hot again, and the fact that _that _happens only pisses me off a little bit more. Just being here, with my..._ex._ It's disgusting to even _call _him that.

So I ready my answer. Very softly, but just Loud enough.. "No."

"Huh?"

"No!" I get louder. "You can replace Noodle, and you can replace Russel, but you can't get me to go along with it. I won't have any of your shit, Murdoc... This... this is _not _ a good idea."

And I almost get scared. Fuck it, I AM getting scared, at the idea that this might all repeat again... _Everything._

I pace the room and shake my head.

"Why not?" He asks. "It's a perfectly good Idea, we're both brilliant song writers"

"No, no, no..." I repeat, to myself in particular. "No, no... We can't, we just-"

"Yeah, we _can_." He says freely. "What can go wrong?"

"Umm... gee." I turn to him and brake out the heavy sarcasm. "Sure Murdoc, everything will be just fucking OKIE DOKIE, right? Nope. Because what goes wrong EVERY TIME we're together? Huh? Do you even REMEMBER what went on the ENTIRE TIME we were on demon days? We can' .In the . Without something happening."

"Oh god." And I've upset him. He puts a stressed hand to his stressed forehead and gives me a long sigh. "I'm so done with this, really. Just... Don't. It's over, we need to-"

"What?!" I bark. "Ignore it? Ignore the fact that we were a thing? That we were...we were an _item_?"

"Fuck the relationship!" He's nearly shouting. "Fuck the itemizing, fuck it all! You have all of this RIGHT in front of you, and you're just going to ignore it?"

"All of what?" I turn around and give him no space for an answer. "There _is _nothing. You've made that very clear."

"You little prick." Now he's angry. Before he was just a little tiffed, I know Murdoc, and I know his moods. Now he's angry. I can't turn to look at him. "Nothing? Nothing at all?"

I turn back to him and nod, though shame threatens to maybe snap me.

Anger and shock pay back on his disbelieving face. "You've had _everything just _DROPPED into your lap. _I _brought you into this band, and _I _worked for this, and _I _brought you back here. Do you know how many people want this opportunities that you're so lucky to have handed to you? Chances are, NONE of them will get it, and YOU have it just tossed over to you, fame, fortune, women, and you want to just drop it? Well as your mate, and band mate, I'm not letting you turn this down. That's why I've got that stupid whale out there, and thats why you're not leaving this beach. End of the story."

It's all there, on the plate. The plate of life, the truth. Murdoc, as idiotic as he may act, is usually always right, and now is no exception.

"I'll stay." I say slowly. "But I want answers. I want answers to things, and I want them _now_."

"Shoot." And that wasn't an _aw dang _shoot, that was an _okay what are they? _shoot.

I prepare it. The stupid question, but the expensive one, the one I've wondered for so long...

"Where are my films?" I ask. "And why did you take them?"

"Oh... _this_." He speaks softly and takes a year like minute to sigh and think it over. "You see..."

***CRACK***

" So ye' thinks ye' can just plummet off without paying consequences? THINK AGAIN!"

That wasn't either of us, and neither was the boom. It was in fact, some raspy cracky voice that I'm sure wasn't the cyborg or dave. I turn to Murdoc, who's lost all the colour in his face.

"What was that?" I ask nervously.

"Err... You ever seen a pirate movie?" He asks cautiously.

"... Yeah." I answer.

"Good." He says. "Cause I think we're in one."

**NOTE: Thank you all so much! And I'm sorry that the movie question wasn't answered yet, but that comes into play with the storyline, and it WILL be answered :)**

**Thank you, and don't forget to review and tell me what you think!**


	40. 40: Kisses and Trickery

**Chapter 40: Kisses and Trickery**

Today could have been good morning.

Today could have been just today.

Today could have been us.

All of us. Today could have been today, but one mistake, one slight prick of the finger can lead to a complete loss of blood, a river of it to wash away everything else that matters.

So today is not good morning, neither is it us, or just today, or anything like that. Today is tonight, and tonight will be fighting off pirates, as Murdoc's only explained to me about a few minutes ago.

And to make matters all so more lovely, I'm fumbling through an air conditioning vent on my hands and knees. Only moments ago, Murdoc got some smug _I'm so fucking brilliant _look on his stupid face, and proceeded to shove me up an air conditioning vent with some quick worded instructions on what to do once I'm through, and only nervous chunks of a sentence on why exactly I was doing this.

_"Black Cloud Pirates." He said. "Gave them faulty weaponry. They're being pussies about it. No big deal, just go."_

And god this vent is stupid. Murdoc, if you didn't stop my heart half the time I'm with you, this would be your job. It's got to be about two times smaller than a regular one, and since we're thirty thousand flippin' leagues under the sea or what not, there are ladders. Damned _ladders._ I'd even promised my mum a while back after I'd fallen out of that tree that I wouldn't climb up any more high things, but I did damn it, I did!

Looks like I've finally made it through, though. The dust starts to fade from the air as I inch on my hands and knees, closer to what looks like a little metal door. Sure enough, it is. Now than... What was I supposed to do again?

_Watch them_, he'd said, _Find them, and distract them in some way. Give me a cue, when they're distracted, and I'll find a way up unseen._

Easy for him to say, but whatever. Little slivers of light poke out through the metal door. I peek through them observantly as they become the study room, the one with the stairway I'd locked Murdoc to, there are two men.

One of them is surprisingly average looking. A light beard surrounds his chiseled Shapley chin. Thin and quick of the eye, he stands alert. The watcher.

His greasy friend, is however the strength, probably. With a neck short and fat like a tree stump, and fat thickened muscles, he rummages around greedily and rubs his bald dome.

"Where d'you think he's hid'n?" The thinner one asks his mate.

"I dunno', but he'll be out." He assures, with his nose into Murdocs possessions. "For now we'll be nappin' his stuff as a method of _current _payback. If he ain't out in the next minute or so, we'll take the lift and check every nook and corner of this place untill we've got the little bugger."

Shit, how am I to distract them, exactly? I should act fast, though. This plan is about to fail as it is. Through nervousness, I push the door open gently. Still, it creaks like an old crow.

And this is it. This is _now. _Do something stuart, do something!"

A bead of sweat travels down my head as I speak up. "Hey uh, look! A cat!"

Look. A cat. And there is, in fact, no cat. But the larger one who's looting the place up looks anyways.

"Where?" He asks, almost like he's exited. "I don't see one."

"You big idiot." His mate barks, and only than do I realize his eyes are _so blue_. _Little cerulean dimes of the sea._No homo, or anything, but they really are so blue. Like the color the clouds hide, but nothing hides these eyes as they're looking right at me.

"That kid, right there!" The man with the eyes points a dirty fingernail to me. "He's the one who said it, there ain't no cat."

On that mark, the other man looks at me too. So this is my distraction? A cat? Good job stu, really. Just _wonderful._

"Oh... Hello." I greet them rather nicely. "You uh... Come for tea?"

They uh... they haven't come for tea. Their rotten expressions fume anger, and tell me so.

"No, but we _have _come for your head. Now where be your friend hiding?" The round grimy man demands.

"Who?" I ask, looking down at these idiots who can't even harm me. It's actually kind of empowering.

"Murdoc Niccals." They hiss in unison.

"I'm Murdoc Niccals." I tell them casually.

"No you ain't!"

"Am too." I argue without getting very angry, as they do.

"Are not!"

"Are too."

"ARE NOT!"

"Are too."

And big guy's had enough.

"ALRIGHT." He roars, and his _patience _has about dried out.. "HAVE YOUR BUDDY DOWN HERE, OR I'LL HAVE YE BOTH STRUNG FROM THE RAFTERS."

The taller one looks a bit hurt, and nudges his friend. "Red, I was s'posed to say that."

"Not now, shawn." Redrick grumbles.

All the while I'm so busy just having fun with their anger, and basking in my own temporary lead, that I barely notice the fact that I'm half way out of the vent. Barely notice myself losing that special mix of grip and balance, only to lose all agility and feel my heart attack itself as I slip from the vent, and everything on the ground below me grows closer until my head start is ripped away from me.

Shoulder first, I smack the ground, and the rest of me meets up with the hard floor in a noticeably painful noise.

***SMAP***

That, was the sound of my shoulder aquiring a heavy dosage of aching pain, along with the rest of my body. But the shoulder pain stands out, as the realization of my ultimate doom hits me. The pirates, for a moment they just stare, their faces like heavy stone statues, unable to break.

But they do break. Their stone faces crumble into laughter. uncontrollable laughter that leaves them both to hold their sides and clench their eyes tight.

"Not so tough now, are ye?" Redrick, I guess that's his name, stocks over with heavy boots that seem to rattle the earth, and with a bear-like hand, he scoops me by the back of my shirt, only to drag me up to a stand I wouldn't have managed otherwise.

All I can do is sit there in painful shock as he gets me in a captive hold under his arm.

"People like this one, making it easier for us all the time, eh shawn?"

"I told you." Shawn grumbles. "Its bean-beard."

But why am I even listening to this, I'm about to get gutted or what not!

"MURDOC, THE PLAN WENT TO SHIT, HELP, FUCKING HELP-" My shivery voice is stalled by a sweat matted hairy hand over my mouth. But through it, I still scream and shout for everything that I've got, for everything that I _haven't _got, but I fight for him, and I fight for me, but it doesn't work.

"Aww." Shawn fakes sympathy. "Your buddy can't hear you, can he mate?"

The blue eyes move closer as he teases and gets uncomfortably close to my face. He speaks with breath of rum and everything terrible.

"Well no worries. You'll see him in a moment, won't you? And than if you're lucky, you'll get to see him die! Won't that be fun? That is, if we don't kill you first, you cheeky bum."

On the last word, he gives me a sharp kick in the knee, but it's still nothing compared my left shoulder, which might collapse if I move wrong.

"You're a dick." I speak, but it comes out in muffles.

"Can't hear you, mate." Shawn says. "But I'd shut up if I were you, or the cloud will have your tongue."

The blue eyes are blue lies. He doesn't deserve them. People like that don't deserve to be beautiful. Beauty runs only over the skin, but ugly will poison the inside.

_*Ding*_

And there it is, once again. The all too chipper ringing of that blasted lift bell. But is it too chipper?

I mean, it really should be a good thing that those washed silver doors slide open to reveal the sickly skinned limping hero. But is he actually going to be the hero, or is he just going to run off and leave me for pirate food? Still, I'm glad to see him.

His face is the same stone that theirs was before. Serious, and pissed, and ready, all in one face. The face, Of murdoc Niccals. Guns quickly emerge from the pirates pockets to their hands, and they hold them steadily, but their hands shake on the triggers with a hint of nervousness.

He walks like royalty from the elevator, though still with a hobble in his step from the toe that he's lost. Just watching him walk though, is something else. That sense of pride that I feel ,just knowing he's on my side.

"There ye be." Redrick grumbles through a yellow grin. "And where might ye have been hiding, huh?"

"Drop the accent, you bumbling fool. Everyone knows it's not real." Murdoc rolls his eyes without even a flicker of fear in them, compared to my eyes which must be fully composed of it. Redricks smelly hand with the consistency of sandstone remains over my mouth.

'I... don't know what you be talkin' about!" Redrick gibbers back, after a moment of awe.

"He knows." Shawn, the blue eyed dick hisses. "Lay off it rick, come on."

"The rest of the cloud's yet to show up, huh?" Murdoc asks. "Or have they something else planned for me, and you two were stupid enough to compile your own little mission to impress captain crunch, or whatever his name is?"

"You forget that we have guns and you don't, mr. Niccals." Shawn explains, quite calmly as he draws his revolver closer and closer to the side of my head, until the barrel becomes quite acquainted with the side of my head.

And for no reason at all, I care. I don't want death anymore, not like this! Not when Noodle is alive, not when Murdoc isn't a murderer, not when my friends are all still alive and sane. So when that barrel touches my temple, my eyes explode with fear, and I beg through my mouth with begging words that are pushed back by the hand.

"So are you to give up and let us take you back to the boss..." Shawn displays an option with his cruel voice. "Or is bluey over here going to meet jesus tonight?"

Murdoc remains still, and without any emotion but being completely neutral. He picks at his nails, and I nearly hear the slight flicking of it. But that's covered up by the clicks of the readying revolver.

"So death it is than?" Shawn asks. Murdoc keeps with the picking of his nails, but slowly one of his eyes rolls onto me. Just barely enough to see me begging him with my eyes. Silently pleading, asking him what the hell is wrong with him, asking him to save me.

He takes his eyes away and sighs with a guilt free shrug. "What do I care? Go ahead. Pull the trigger."

But... but we... This is so _unfair._ Murdoc, what's wrong with you? Save me, I'm sorry! I don't wanna' die anymore, I'll be good, I swear! I'll stay here, and I'll never try to leave, I'll... _please._

But that was only my thinking, and it remains unheard.

"FINE!" Redrick barks with brandy soaked breath. "SHAWN, PULL THE TRIGGER."

This was the real goodbye. And I'm sorry it had to be this way. I'm sorry I don't hate you, Murdoc. You're killing me... _why can't I hate you?_

_*flick*_ This is what real quiet is. That moment of life and death, that moment when you're not sure which one it is. This moment where I unclench my tightly zipped eyes and find Murdoc just staring boredly, playing with his fingernails yet again. And I _am not_ dead.

_*flick*_ That was the dry sound of a failing trigger.

"What's this?" Sean asks as the trigger fails him a few more times. "IT WONT FIRE, WHAT THE HELL?"

"Men, did you forget that I''ve sold you _faulty _weaponry? Did you?" Murdoc cocks his head, and wears the sleek style of a man who's just one. "And were you aware that faulty weaponry doesn't work? Shame, shame."

"YOU FILTHY TUB OF IDIOT!" Shawn hisses to redrick as he drops the revolver. "I TOLD YOU TO GRAB THE OTHER ONES, NOT THE ONE'S HE SOLD US."

I'm dropped from the smelly pirate redrick's great arms, as he steps back in defense and they argue on. Murdoc watches for a moment, than turning his head to me as I lye in shock on the ground.

"You see 2D" He begins. "The only good thing about the black cloud is that most of it is pieced of idiots, hence, these two. CYBORG!"

The pirates and I turn to Murdoc as he calls out this last random command. But he just looks on like nothing's happened, and not a second later does that wired woman rush obediently in.

"Yes *BZZRT* Your majesty Niccals." She says.

I take this opportunity to say my first words since I've been able to talk. "She calls you that?"

He gives me a quick nod, and turns to her. "Why don't you give these two the old gassing, and take them back to their homeship, huh?"

Cyborg nods like a good servant.

"Hey wait just a minute here!" Redrick spits. "We ain't goin nowhere, until-"

But the sight of the cyborg whipping out one of here many illegal weapons, and firing a shot not a dime away from his head, is quite a sight. They each nod a frozen nod, and are escorted out of the room by the cyborg, hopefully never to be seen by us again.

Still on the floor, I help myself up through the pain in my shoulder. Murdoc still stands casually.

"You knew the whole time?" I ask under the silence. "About the guns?"

"Realized about halfway up here that the only weaponry they had was bound to be faulty. It was a gamble, really. You alright?"

That last question gives me a bit of a shock. Not really like him... But I make my way over anyways, and rub the shoulder that continues to be jabbed mercilessly by pain.

"Fine, but I kind of... fell out of the vent." I scratch my head with my working arm, out of embarrassment. "And I think I screwed up my shoulder, or something."

"Hold on..." He holds his hands up. "Hold on... You fell out of the vent?"

"Yeah, yeah." I sigh. "And you almost got me killed, so don't think you have any right to laugh."

"Yeah, but I knew, so no harm done." He says, and gives a slightly annoyed sigh. "Your shoulder, huh?"

"Yeah."

He nods casually. "Take your shirt off."

"Huh?" Now, I almost take this the wrong way. "Why?"

"Just do it." He growls impatiently. So with my working arm, I carefully peel the shirt away from my body, and slide it down off my hurt shoulder. Bare chested, I stand awkwardly and step back to be farther away. He examines me quickly, and looks up.

"Dislocated. Not that big of a deal, easily fixable."

I look down and see that he sure is right. Part of the shoulder bone, sticking out like a sore thumb, and draped by reddening skin. Probably going to swell, and that explains the pain.

"Shit." I mutter. "Well what am I going to do?"

"Like I said, no big deal." He repeats with a shrug. "I'll just pop it back in."

Uh, what? Hell no! I step back in my own safety and ward him off with my hands. "Eh, no thanks. I'll just uh... I'm good."

"2D..." He sighs. "Come on, it's not going to be _that _bad. I've done this to myself plenty of times when I was younger. Hannibal was a real dick, y'know. Always causing injuries and such."

I step back again as he stalks closer. Slowly he becomes the danger. "I'm fine!"

"Come on, give it here! Just-"

"No!" I'm nearly shouting. "Get away, go on, get!"

And he grabs for me, and I lunge away. Soon enough this is war. He's laughing like this is funny, as he keeps on for the grabbing, but I'm just getting more pissed. But he trips me with his left foot, and I'm down on my back. Sure, I try to inch away, but he just gets on his knees and grabs for my shoulder.

Sure enough, I give him a hell of a time by squirming.

"Quit your moving!" He warns. "It's just going to hurt worse."

"NOT IF YOU DON'T DO IT!" I shout. "GET AWAY, GO! LEAVE ME ALONE!"

He's quick, but I'm quicker.

"Okay, now you're really starting to piss me off, Stuart."

"Oooh, first name basis." I laugh sarcastically as we struggle. "This must really be serious."

"I'm close to flogging you, boy." Now he's getting angry. "I'm just trying to help, now calm your pants!"

"No!" I protest as I wiggle away from him. "You're not going to win, so you might as well-"

Stop. I was going to say stop, _but he kissed me._ No, he isn't just kissing me. He's dropping everything and leaning into me. My squirming stops and I just drop it as I close my eyes and fall limp under the power of our lips together, his pressing down hard and soft on mine. And I let him damnit, I _let_ him.

_You're all I want. Please don't let this stop._

His mouth is still that elegant blend of cheap brandy and cigarettes. Now we are quiet, and tired, but the sound of slow crashing water keeps us awake, along with the simple idea of us. Just us. Slowly, just ever so slowly, I feel his hand creep softly up to my neck and let his cold thumb stroke my chin for a moment, only to trace it's way lightly down to the edge of my pained shoulder, and rest there. But I don't care. I don't care that he slowly grasps the pained bone as out tongues and lips play together in a passionate tango of-

_*SNAP*_

SON OF A BITCH MOTHER FUCKER, THAT HURT. I could have said this, but I only scream my pain into his mouth. He gently removes his hands from my throbbing shoulder, and himself from my mouth. He wipes away our combined spit with the back of his palm.

"Done." He states.

But I take my attention away from the searing pain in my shoulder to get angry at him.

"What the hell was that, I thought you didn't wanna' do this anymore!"

He shrugs as I lift myself up to a sit. "Only way I could get you to sit still. Listen, don't get any ideas-"

"HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO NOT GET ANY IDEAS WHEN YOU'RE FORCE RAPING MY MOUTH?" I complain.

"It's not rape if you liked it." He tease-sings.

"Whatever." I fume, and snap up to a stand, only to storm off. "Fuck off."

"Oh, and if you're off to toss yourself around with the image of myself in your head." He adds as I leave. "Don't use the good tissues...Those are _my _good tissues."

**NOTE: Hey guys! Home from school with a stupid concussion, so I actually got this done a little earlier than I'd hoped. Yeah, I fell down in the hallway and hit my head cause I'm an idiot. Who knows, maybe my hair will fall out and grow back blue :)**

**Anyways, specific questions WILL get answered in the next one or two chapters, so please don't hate me, and hold on to your seats loves! Thank you SOOO SOO much for supporting me, I seriously love you all so much :D**

**Thank you, and please tell me what you think! I love to hear your opinions :) I could always use new ideas!**

**Sincerely, a very concussed Anonymicious**


	41. 41:Factories Far Away

**Chapter 41: Factories far away**

**Note: Allll-right! I think you'll be happy with this chapter, guys :) I hope so. Enjoy! Some questions getting answered, if you know what I mean, wink wink ;)**

**(Super long chapter- Super long story. Sorry if I'm annoying you guys! :P )**

And as slow as a river runs quick, Murdoc's _good _tissues began to disappear just as he'd hoped them not to... Alright, so maybe it wasn't that slow. Three weeks. Three dreary, womenless weeks have left me the highest, and the dryest, and jesus christ have I grown close with my left hand... To be quite frank... And in all honesty...

Okay, I _might _be masturbating, alright? Does anyone know how hard it is, to have women practically _dangling _in your window, and than just being totally and completely ripped from that scene, and thrown on your arse onto some womenless wastelandic beach? And the hardest part of that little spiel, is that most of the times I find myself in this cramped little room, tugging away at little Stu with unbearably dry hands...

The imagery isn't of curvy broads, and thick legged ladies... And I always try to make it that, I try _so hard..._ But my toss-dreams always seem to float back to a sickly skinned spider of a man, the one with the faded ruby of an eye and the thrashed dome haircut, working, working, working at that cyborg, wearing a hardened face as he pays this rotten attention to his work.

His sweat. His anger, his stress. Those pulsating veins... The one's that make _me _pulsate. So I tug, and I tug, and I try not to think about myself doing it. Give myself as _little _detail as possible. But damn it, I look down, and my eyes catch the pulsating flesh, and it tells me... It says:

_Hey Stuart, You're masturbating to the thought of Murdoc Niccals. You know, your ex- Boyfriend? Oh, you don't like the thought of that, do you?_

Shut up little stuart. You're a dick.

_Duh, I'm a dick. Litteraly, I'm your penis. And maybe if you weren't constantly choking me and making me throw up all over myself, I'd be nice to you, and not remind you of the fact that you're homosexual._

I am not! Just... confused, and what not. Leave me alone, you penis. Let's just finish this up stuart, okay? So I do. Give myself a few more seconds on the image of that sweet blue ocean peeking through the windows, staying perfectly still behind the man. And I mean _the _man.

Sweet as all this may seem, it takes back its bitter form as the cause of it all dings his way here in that stupid lift. I'm given just enough time to drown my manhood under the heavy comforter as those doors slide fancily open, to give me the very alive picture of Murdoc twiddling a matchstick between his jagged teeth, as he very boredly sighs his way in and walks in, now hobble free, and still like royalty.

And I wonder if he notices my _very erect self _as he opens his mouth and the matchstick creates the only sound in the room by dropping to the floor. "Hey."

That's all it takes, and I already knew as when he walked in that any word he was going to say was bound to free my geyser all over to the blanket above it, even if the word was only a simple biscuit like _hey._

The very degrading and uncomfortable warm stickyness of my own cum on my thigh forces me to a nervous and shaken response as he just watches me with slight confusion.

"Hey."

"Look." His voice wreaks of stress and impatience as he runs a bony hand over his forehead. "This isn't just a _hey-hey_ chat. It's been what, three or four weeks? And all we've done is sit in the studio and smoke and shoot the breeze, or what not. We _really_ need to get to work on this."

I resist telling him that _half _of that is because neither of us have gotten any action in the past four weeks. I just nod and let the sweat drip down my temple, hoping he doesn't notice.

"Uh huh. Right. Work. We'll do it."

A nanosecond passes unseen, and he's already got a cigarette hanging from his lip piping this warm safe smell into the room. "Right. Upstairs. Five minutes, and I'll expect you in the studio. And do know that I mean _five minutes._ Neither of us have the energy to have me coming down and kicking your arse right into Sabueso's blowhole."

"Okay. Yeah." I agree facelessly, and he gives me a gentle nod, only to turn his self back to the lift and speak up without even facing me.

"Oh and actually, take an extra minute to clean yourself up, why don't you. Masturbation takes its toll on hygiene when you're taking business under the blankets."

The first thought I have as he gets in the lift and goes, is that it's funny, him telling me to be hygenic when he's as un-hygenic as he is. The second thing that strikes me is the embarrassment in knowing that he knows about my failed attempt to spark up some lust in myself.

And I say failed, because I'm still as horny as ever.

Plastic beach:1, Stuart:0

But I end up making my way to the studio easilier than I'd expected. _Cleaning up_ didn't take any sweet time, and by now I've got the kinks of direction worked out around here. Plastic beach has kind of wormed it's way into my temporary home. Temporary, that is.

And he's late. I mean, he'd made a deal about _me _being late, but the studio door takes me in, and I glare into the lonely nothing that's only filled with everything we need to create an album, and the ghostly smell of cigarettes and body sweat and spilled tequila. No Murdoc. Not yet, at least.

So I play around, because playing around is the one of the only things that keeps me sane in these days. I switch on one of the fresh smelling casio's, and I drum out a tune that only sings to me. Being alone with your music is something else. There's a sense of security, and self kept passion when the music plays as your personal journal, and sings you the song of your life.

Murdoc makes his presence known with an angry door shutter as he slumps into the room.

"Quit dicking around." He complains. "We've work to do."

"Sorry." I grumble unapologetically. Real apology or not, his bass takes its rightful place in his hands, and he takes his place in the chair opposite me. His eyes give me this smoldering look that tells me he's serious. No fooling around this time.

"Right then... How's your shoulder..." His question is barely a question. Mumbled softly, and distantly under his breath, I barely even register it.

"Still hurts." I answer. "You've already had to snap it back twice in the time I've been here. Don't think it's getting much better. Maybe if I had my-"

"Don't say pills." His words are a quiet command. "I don't wanna' hear it."

"But I don't work right without them-"

"We're not talking about this. End of discussion."

That, is exactly the moment when I start to need them. His words waver as the end of, and the head on my shoulders welcomes back that old familiar ache that was far from missed. Not giving it the reaction it wants, I get back to Murdoc.

Except I don't really get back to Murdoc, because all we're doing is wading in each others silence, as he strokes the chords of his bass ever so gently, so to spark only a twangy low hum in them. The only noise.

"So, what?" I ask. "What are we doing, just sitting here? Are we supposed to write the music, or practice old songs, or-"

"Already have most of the songs written." He brings his head away from the bass to tell me. "All you need to worry about doing is singing them."

But if only that was true. If only all I had to worry about was singing songs. I almost feel hurt though, when I catch up to what he's saying."

My eyebrows sink. "You already wrote the songs?"

"Most." He shrugs. "Some of them have got to be finished. We'll start with this one- Pirate jet. That's one of the only finished ones, so why the hell not?."

He's handed me the paper mid sentence, and I scan it over. it's all there, in his scratchy limber handwriting, but fresh. Fresh but old.

_It's all good news now_

_Because we left the taps-running_

_For a hundred years_

_So drink into the drink_

_A plastic cup of drink_

_Drink with a couple_

_of people_

_the plastic eating people_

_Still connected_

_To the moment it began_

And this is an interesting one. Figures Murdoc _would _write a song about plastic cups and mysterious drinks, but he's got the ears and brains for music. Maybe not the vocal chords, but the ears and the brains...

"I like it." I say hollowly, because hollowly seems all I can manage in these times.

"Well, it doesn't much matter if you like it." He says. "You've just got to sing it is all."

I take his attitude, and I give none back. "What else have you got?"

"Most of the album." He shrugs, and pulls the rest of the chalky papers out of somewhere unknown. "Look em' over, if you want. Most of them will be done with collaborators."

The stack is of uneven, and mismatched papers. Much like Murdoc himself, Mismatched, and composed of letters and words that mean different things. The song names stick out at the tip top of each paper. I read them over as I flip. Some of them with undecided names or titles.

_The empire- Empire ants (Undecided)_

_Some kind of nature_

_Broken_

_The plastic beach, Plastic beach (lose the __the__?"_

_? -trash this piece_

_On Melancholly hill_

So it's a rainbowed assortment of names. But one sticks out. It's a grey in the aray of metaphorical colours, and it's name is _?- Trash this piece_

I slip it out like it's wet, and soon to break. But it's very much together, and very much alive. The words on this one are lighter, and almost secret. Like they were never meant to be there. This is the one that's caught my eye.

_I'm a scary gargoyle on a tower_

_That you made with plastic power_

_Your rhinestone eyes are like_

_Factories far away_

These words.. They're grace, they're everything ugly and everything utterly _beautiful._ I sneak a glance at Murdoc who still twiddles away at his bass with determined hands.

And I will never really understand. I'll never understand how such amazing words can come together and out of a man like Murdoc. Beauty from the beast, the villan, the antagonist. The poet.

His eye catches my still commotion.

"This is beautiful." I tell him, because I want him to know.

"Huh?" He snaps awake from a trance. "Oh, yeah. I'm a beautiful person, I do beautiful things. Which one?"

"What?"

"Which song?"

"oh." And I've snapped awake too. "She's got no name. The one about the rhinestones."

His face is confused, very confused. "Which one about the-"

From confusion, comes shock, and than quickly a spark of panic. His hand snaps to the paper, and he takes the beauty away from my clutches. My hands pose as if it were still there.

"That's rubbish, I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about." He spits, while bawling the paper into a little dead clump, and chucking it over his shoulder. "Filth. Nothing."

"What was that for?" I ask in minor shock. "Murdoc, that's... That song... It's really very beautiful."

He's embarrassed, but he'll never let a soul touch the truth. His sickly face has gone pink, and his eyes slightly angry or nervous. Dangerously flushed.

"Let me see it again." I ask softly for his permission. For his wonderful music. He only glowers his eyes tighter and brushes me away with his words.

"It's not a song... Well...It's... We're not using it, it's not... not right." His words come out as jumbled and broken as mine used to.

"Yeah, it's right!" I send him my disagreement.

"No, it's _not_. It's not even finished."

"We could finish it."

"No, we can't... I-"

And I give him my eyes. And I try to make them tell him that it's okay. But that seems to be up to me.

"Muds-"

"Don't call me that."

"Murdoc." I sigh. "How can you be afraid of your own words?"

There was the question, and next comes the while. The long, long while that he spends smoking a stress-fag, and keeping himself turned from me. All of this while, I just watch him like a zoo animal. Ashamed. Jealous. Hungry for something, and strangely not , is a prison, in which I am trapped by my own will. His mystery, is one I will never come close to finding out. And the prison which is Murdoc, finishes a few smokes in a few minutes, and only then does he give me some words.

"2D." He sighs like he's about to tell me my mothers died, or something. But he just tips some ash into the air and picks up. "What do you see when you look into the mirror?"

Easy.

"Myself, I guess." I answer. "Why?"

"And how does that feel... looking at yourself?" His questions only lose tone and life as they come.

"Fine. Guess I'm just checking on how I look or something, so fine." My answer comes with a shrug, and is followed by more of his words.

"But after a while... Say you've been looking in the mirror for a few hours, days even. How does that feel now?"

The questions are growing, and they start to scare me as they become bigger than I am.

"Weird.. Maybe. Tiring, I guess. probably a little scary."

"Scary." He mutters to himself. Almost seeming satisfied. "Yes. Exactly."

"Murdoc.. You're scaring me." I warn him. "What are you talking about?"

He seems almost dead for a moment, since he's turned away from me. Not even the gentle beat of his breathing. But like he always does, he picks up.

"Listen closely Stuart. I'm only going to say this once." So I listen, I do. "Your words are a reflection of yourself. So are mine, and everybody elses. It's like looking in a mirror. And when you look too closley, or pay too much attention...You start to notice the ugly things. And those ugly things get bigger and bigger, and they'll eventually kill you, like ugly things do... To be afraid of your words is to be afraid of yourself. The only thing to be afraid of is yourself, and in every sense..."

His last words come slow, and important. "You are the most dangerous thing to yourself."

_You are the most dangerous thing to yourself_

His words are the echo in the canyon of my skull. And it kills me, because all I'd wanted this morning was sex, sex, and booze. Now I just want to take a nap and let myself cry for no reason at all. Murdoc does stuff like this a lot.

"...Speechless, are we?" His voice is deep, and sexy, and amused. The package.

My frozen head nods as his slightly turns to catch my reaction.

"Thought so... You remember that time a couple of weeks ago, when you'd told me you'd have to be stoned to fully understand the concept of music?"

Another quiet nod from my part.

"... You wanna' understand the music?"

One more nod to say yes, and that same one will begin our temporary journey away from ourselves.

_/

My choices were between Juliet, C99, or trainwreck, which I've just learned are all different kinds of weed. It didn't even matter though, and it still doesn't, because which ever one he lit up for me is working, and the floor is more comfortable than it's ever been. I've smoked enough to make the floor feel like a fucking unicorn. My loud headache from earlier has died and been reincarnated to only sunshine and birdies. Lots of birdies.

The world is quiet, and so bright, and so damn dark. I've no idea how I've gotten here, but sky is this great beautiful ugly blanket of black purple. And _so many _stars. There were never enough in Crawley, or Kong, or any of the other places I've been. The stars were shy there, but here on plastic beach they're strong, and they're proud, and they're quite gorgeous.

The sky I observe is through a window that swallows the whole of the room, but the ground and some of the ceiling. Other than that, the walls seem to be only glass.

And well... Everything is slow, and tired, and fuzzy... I almost don't notice, or pay any attention to the lovely sound of rough patterned breathing behind me. It forces me to emit a small giggle, because it's just so here, so now...

And I carefully flip myself over to face the face that stares at the ceiling and only the ceiling. Breathing, and living, and waiting to wait for something to wait for, with his breathing that sounds like the beach.

"You sound like an ocean." I can't help but sputter in laughs.

I almost think he's angry for a moment when he doesn't answer, or even move. But he makes movement in the dark room, and he's alive.

"An ocean sounds like you." He throws back, but even he can't help but laugh.

"That's stupid." I whisper, only to take it back a few seconds later. "No wait... I'm sorry. You're not stupid, I was only kidding. I'm a bad friend... I love you, Murdoc..."

The last part came so quick, and projectile. Like sweet vomit, but I take it back quickly. "You know, like a friendly brotherly buddy thing."

No movement in the black. No breathing. No answer. I just watch him look at the ceiling, and I watch him play dead.

"Mudders?"

"I haven't had sex in five weeks." He sounds shaken, and awful, and almost like scared. But that doesn't surprise me. What surprises me is the truth in his words.

"What?" I ask. "Five weeks? You? You never go hardly a day without it, and five weeks? Can't they fly you down slags with the monthly food supply?"

"You don't think I've tried that? It's hard enough getting any booze from them, let alone fuckable women. I mean sweet lucifer ballsweat, In these past five weeks, I've been-"

"Growing rather acquainted with your hand?" I finish his sentence with my laughter, but he tries to be serious through his high.

"Yeah. Exactly."

I wait an awkward moment to give him my even more awkward answer. "Me too."

" 'Pff'.. I know." He chuckles lightly. "You forget, I walked in on you beating your meat around, only a few hours ago."

"... Right." I cough, and you know what? I'm giving him the truth. It's time to come clean.

"I walked in on you once too. A long while ago, I mean like eleven or twelve years ago, when we very first started up the band, that first night. Before paula and everything. We was in your shack thingy, and we fell asleep, and I woke up a little while later to walk in on you with your joystick in your hand, going for a round of pacman or something. I was so frightened you were gonna' beat me in, I just ran off, and that's when I met paula. Hitchhiking n' stuff. You know, I bet-"

"I know." He stops me.

"_What_ do you know? I ain't finished yet-"

His answer comes quick, and honest. "I know you walked in on me. This isn't the midnight confession or anything, but I'd seen you. And I didn't stop because..."

No answe, but I egg him on. "Because? Because?"

"Because I kind of liked it, okay? Gah. It was weird, it _is_ weird. I shouldn't have even said anything, I mean... You were like nineteen or twenty back then, so that's just-" Even through embarrassment, he's got that stoned laugh.

"What if I told you I'd had a wet dream about you?" I interupt him with my own tale.

This seems to interest him. He flops over so our faces are only inches apart, and raises an eyebrow. "Really now?"

I nod slowly, and hide my eyes from his judgement. "It was that same night, and I'd gotten home and went to bed... Had a dream... and well... You were there, and we were seconds away from screwing, and I woke up to find my sheets all stuck to me legs."

"I want details." He asks hungrily.

"No! No fucking way."

"Stu. I want details." We're teenage girls tonight, and this is our idea of a party. So I play along.

"Gameshow. I picked door three and paula was there, and I traded it for door two, and you were there and you were naked and we almost sexed it up with the whole crowd watching us, okay?" My response definitely ran a few stop lights.

"That's kind of hot." He says normally. Than comes the laughter.

He just laughs, and laughs. Like this is funny, but it's not... Okay, it is. Everything is funny when you're stoned. We're just a couple of people with human emotions, and we laugh, and we love, and right now we're normal us. All that I could want.

"Your turn." My laughter comes to a halt, and soon after, his does to.

"Turn for what?"

"I wanna' know something."

"Boring..." He mutters in displeasure, and tries to roll away, like a penguin.. Our pinkies intertwine, almost by natures force, but it was me all along.

"What if it's not boring?"

This catches his ear, and he stays tuned. "Well, go on then. Ask away. No pirates, no excuses, eh? Go on."

This is like a gift. One I've wanted for years, and here it is. My lips slowly part to force out smooth words as I focus into his eyes. "Why did you take my films?

It's out there, and he's right. No pirates, no excuses. Just the solid face of Murdoc, who's lips slowly curl to give me half of a crooked smile.

"To see how your clock ticks."

I'm confused, and almost disappointed. "What? My clock-"

"I'm going to be honest now, okay?" He whispers. "This is the truth, and you will _never_ hear it again... So listen, okay?"

I nod like an obedient child, and thus his story begins.

"When I saw your face on the front door cam that day that Noodle brought us both back for demon days... The world still spun, the oceans still rocked, and everything was the same. No love, no storybook beginning. But I'll tell you what... I saw your nose, and that worried look in your big black eyes, and that... those dents that belong to me..."

He pauses for a moment to sink into a memory, only to poke up with wistful eyes.

"And damn, I'd missed you_ so _much. That was all that I'd thought. How much I'd missed you, enough that you'd become something I couldn't live without... And you were there again... And I was _happy_. But in short time, It wasn't that I had just missed you anymore. I wasn't just glad you were there. I'd started to develop god awful feelings. Feelings, really are just awful things. But I'd had them, and they just made me feel like _shit..."_

His tone starts to get darker, as so does the mood. If it weren't for us both being stoned off our arses, this would be classified stuff.

"I mean... To think that I was getting these feelings for another man... I just hated everything... But I needed to keep these stupid emotions controlled... This is where your movies come in..."

And I wait for it. I wait like the shore waits for the waves, and I wait like the sky waits for the moon, and I wait like I have been for all this time. Here it is.

"I wanted to see what makes you tick, what gets you going. So I turned to the movies, to watch them and study them. See what makes you exited, angry, sad. I wanted to live from your view for a moment, and know how you work... because..."

And in this warm moment, a delicate finger of his brushes past my hair, and traces unknown patterns behind my ear, where he knows I like it best.

"You're so... weird." He continues with interest in his face. "I mean, good weird... Just so interesting, and special, and... You were everything the world wakes up to look for... You still are, have I told you that? I mean as a brother-friend-pal-buddy thing, I'm telling you this: You're a worthy human being, D. And I..."

He doesn't finish, and anything I had of manliness wants to leave me, because I want to cry again. I'm stoned, and I'm tired, and I'm confused, and I'm happy beyond it all. I finally know, and it's a good reason, too. So I curl up tighter, letting my legs fold, and he keeps his hand tracing behind my ear... And the purple sky tells me goodnight, but I tell it to shut the fuck up, because I don't want to sleep. Screw sleep, screw it to hell.

"So did you..." I ask. "Find what you were looking for?"

He twists his mouth, and shrugs with a head shaking for_ no_. "Never did find it... What makes you tick, I mean."

"Well.." I mutter. "You never really had to go looking."

"Really?" He asks softly. "Why? What is it?"

I twist my mouth back at him, and I exhale, and I hold onto the manliness inside of me, because I'll need it later.

"It's kind of _you_."

And he gives me this little smile, and I give him one back, the purple sky tells us to shut the fuck up, so we sleep together.

And I don't mean we _sleep _together, I mean we actually sleep. Like I sort of bury my head into his hard chest, and he smells like everything I remember. His hand softly clutches my side to drawl in closer, and we slowly die off to the sleep that may never be anything else but sleep.

Because according to sober Stuart, and sober Murdoc, this is not love. This is not a relationship, this is confusion, and it's sick, and it's wrong, and everything in between.

"You know Dave or Cyborg might come up." I mumble my worries into his chest. "We'll have to move, or something."

"Worst case scenario..." He starts. "Dave comes up, and we both have enough pot in our systems that we suffer heart attacks from shock, and I go to hell, and you become a ghost and haunt all the people you hate. Sound good?"

"...How much pot did we smoke?" I ask.

"All of it."

"How much is all of it?" I burrow closer into his clutches

"Enough to make us not care about anything at all ever. That's what trainwreck does, you know."

And I don't know. I didn't know, but I know now that everything we're doing right now, we're doing because we don't care who knows. But it is all the truth, and the only difference is that we don't care, we don't care, we don't care...

"I really did like your song." I add, just as sleep slips us together away in eachothers arms. "About the rhinestones."

"You can have it." He murmurs. "I think it was maybe for you, anyways. I don't remember..."

_I'm a scary gargoyle on a tower_

_That you made with plastic power_

_Your rhinestone eyes are like_

_Factories far away_

**AN: Wow that was alot. Yeah, sorry for cheesey things, but eh :P Thank you for reading!**

**Please review, tell me what you think! I love your opinions, guise :D**


	42. 42: Dropping Out

**Chapter 42: Dropping Out**

_So, where am I now?_

Three steps ahead, three steps back, and three steps out of the dream that trails a truth-painted night. I am where I was, and that is the exact same place.

Still Stuart, still alone, and still hopelessly lost in love and confusion. Still, I do know a little more. Even if the memory from last night is all foggy skied and in pieces, I can piece the blurry shards together...

Murdoc's words.. Blurred, and slurred, and dripping with every remnant of being completely stoned.

_"And I was happy..._

_But in short time..._

_It wasn't that I had just missed you anymore..._

_I wasn't just glad you were there..._

_I'd started to develop god awful feelings..._

_Feelings, really are just awful things..."_

So this was never new... They were always old, these new emotion's he's developed. I think just maybe, they've always been there. Maybe not just love for me, but love for other things, and hate for other things too.

With every new day that passes with Murdoc, the more I view him as an actual human being, rather than just a Bi-polar Phsyco-sexual slab of flesh... He's a human being, and things hurt him, and he hates, and he loves, and he wakes up in the morning with a heartbeat.

Not that I know, because I'm alone. I'm a dead fly in the middle of the floor, and my spider is nowhere to be found. And it's so incredibly cold when he's not here. Plastic beach could be the poster girl for heat, but it's cold even still.

Pained shoulder and all, I hunch myself up carefully so not to hurt it worse. It still does, and I flinch a bit at the ache that gnaws at my shittily-held together shoulder bone. I only just pray it doesn't pop out again as I pull myself up again to inspect the morning.

The sky behind the glass is clear serene blue, and a bit too perfect, but who are we to judge the sky anyways? So the morning is good so far, and I trail away from the glass room. Down a pair of sketchy spiral stairs is the same study, with the same books, and the same desk.

And at that same desk sits the same Murdoc, who carries many moods, but seems to carry anger, or stress this morning. I can tell by the gruff notes in his voice, and the way he scribbles furiously at his work, rather than being laid back, like usual. He's on the phone as he scrawls with his ridiculously large quil, and the feather sways delicately in the air as he writes and talks and writes and talks... He doesn't seem to feel me here yet.

"Because it's gone, _that's_ why I need it!" He argues to his victim over the phone. "Who d'you think your talking to, some tweenie bopper piece of painted garbage? This is Murdoc Niccals here, buddy, and believe me, I'm not in any mood to be-... Oh really now?"

Debating whether or not I should go down, I hold the walking for a bit. Something wins, be it either side, and I stay for a moment to listen in un-noticed.

"Reasonable rations." He mutters. "What the hell do you mean, reasonable rations? A few dozen bottles of gin or rum and a sack of blueberry hash isn't going to be unreasonable to anyone... I don't care if you're non-alchoholic, the point here remain that-"

Just so faintly, a dial tone hovers. He's been hung up on.

"Bastard." He flips the phone away and huffs at his losing the battle. Seems like a good time to let him know I'm here.

"Hey." I find my way down to him. "What's all this about?"

"It's gone." He says solidly. "All of it. The brandy, gin, tequila, the weed, everything else. Gone! I don't know why, but I haven't been monitoring it, and we've used it all up. All I've got left is a few dozen fags, and than what? Clyde the supplier refuses to bring anything but food and water down. So I'm fucked. Finished. Done."

"You can't get off the island and get them yourself?" I ask. "Don't you have a plane, and you know, a sailboat?"

"The plane's busted." He hisses. "And forget about taking the boat. Do you know where we are? It took me days on end to find this place on boat, let alone get back to land."

So he can craft a real cyborg out of the remnants of human DNA, but he can't fix a plane? Go figure.

He seems in a huff. A real huff, a big one. So I shrug, and decide to try calm him down best I can, even though to myself? The idea of having none of the things he's just listed at hand doesn't sound too wonderful.

"Nothings finished." I tell him. "I mean hey that sucks, but maybe no grass or booze... it'll help you write better?"

The description of it only seems to make him feel worse, and he stretches back over the chair, almost playfully, to groan about his problems.

"So... No sex, no booze, no smoking for a year, or more until we get this album done. And you think that'll make the music better? Quite a lovely thought there, 2D."

He hunches back farther and cranes his bony neck that drips down to a topless torso, that I've just now noticed is in fact _topless_, to only sport that same inverted cross, that hangs and sways with his breathing. Almost like it's patterned with it.

And I wonder if sometimes he looks at me like I look at him. If he watches me stilly while I hang back dangerously in study chairs, and let my hair stay so naturally curved in a shiny plastic-like bowl, that chips and frays little pieces to be free. If he looks at me like I look at him. Wishing, waiting... _Wanting._.. But that's not me. My hair doesn't curve in a shiny black plastic-like bowl that chips and frays pieces yada-yada. My breath doesn't match perfectly with my heartbeat, and I'm not followed hopelessly by a just as hopeless blue haired burn out.

I am only _not _Murdoc Niccals. I am not something to be watched.

And he catches my eye. He catches my eyes, and his grow skeptical.

"Yes hello, 2D? Your eyes are caught on me, get them off, this is serious."

I trace back to the last thing he said, and form a reply... But I don't because I can't remember it, and all I can remember is everything I know about Murdoc Niccals, because there he is in front of me, and I just want to watch him like people watch time. And I begin to remember. Thus, my stupid mouth moves.

"Do you remember anything about last night?"

His reply is shockingly quick. "No."

"Are you sure-"

"course' I remember." He stops me. "You know I do. 2D, pot doesn't make me forget things like it does for you. But it does however, make me say things I shouldn't have, so we're not talking about this, okay?"

So I'm frozen in his cold spoken words, as he snaps back to his normal position and keeps with his writing that only seems to be scribbles.

"You expect me to forget, don't you?" My lips barely move as I talk. And in the murder of a wasted second, this is one of _those_ conversations. Like chatter gets sick, and slips into a coma of arguing and disagreeing... and well... This.

"I don't ask you to forget." He doesn't look at me. "Hang onto it all you want, because it can't happen, and hanging on may very well be all you've got."

"What can't happen?"

"You know what can't happen. Any of this, any of this at all... It'll destroy us both."

Both. Funny word choice, because he knows very well that it only destroys me, while he remains whole.

But he turns around, and strangely enough, he doesn't look angry.

"I don't want to be the bad guy here." He sighs a tired sigh. "You think I like being the bad guy? No. Not-... not have to look you in the eye, and tell you to screw it, to screw it all, because this.., whatever this is, is so fucking unhealthy... And... and-"

All the while he explains this, I'm barely listening because I'm looking at him. Just glazing over what I can't have, needing it more every minute. Needing all of him, every inch...

And just the way he curls his lip when things get rough... His hard limber chest glistening with sweat under the intruding sun... Just the way he moves... And he's still talking as I just pay my attention only to his image. I bite my lip to keep myself from doing something I might regret.

Fuck, it's been _weeks,_ since I've had any sort of sexual interaction with anyone. And believe me, right about now I'd take just about _anyone..._ Who was the last person I've been in bed with? Paraline the neighbor across from me? Yeah... seems about right. How long ago was that? Even farther than the four of five weeks I've been here...

He begins to grow suspicious of my vacant eyes, but oh jesus are they filled up with him. No vacancy here.

How long has it been since... since Murdoc? Years, of course. Before El manana. Maybe the night before? That would be it. As I recall, I'd come pretty damn close to him letting me be in back for once. I'd lost ofcourse, to his objection that he didn't want to be the gay guy in that situation. So it was still an arguably great night, though. My bed, I think? Sounds right... Damn Murdoc, do you remember? The last time you were in me?

"Stop thinking about me!" He hisses, and I fall face first from old paradise. "Mercifull hell, you're readable."

"I... I..." The lies creep closer and closer up my throat, and I swallow them. In these shitty few years, I've learned that all Lying does is hurt you worse.

"What do you expect me to do?!" The lies snap, and they die to give room for the truth. "Neither of us have gotten any play in a month, Murdoc. A MONTH. And if that's bad for me, I can't even _think _of how bad it is for you. The only real human things here are you, me, and that mechanic guy Dave downstairs. So what am I to do? I'M GOING TO LOOK AT YOU, AND I MIGHT JUST FANCY IT... Because...uhmm..."

So my sentence ends, and I fall limp into his arms, and we make sweet love and everything is okay. The end.

Yeah, except that didn't actually happen. Hell, I'm not sure if I even if I want that to happen. Either way it doesn't, and he just sort of looks at me with this entertained slash weirded out look on his face, all packaged together in half a smile.

"So your wandering eyes are an excuse for your profuse libido?" He curls his fingers under his chin to look smart, but it just makes him look more douchey. Douchey, and ever more so desirable.

"Like your libido isn't... profuse." I snap back. He only chuckles lightly and shakes his head.

"I'm not certain you know what either of those words mean, mate."

And I do. Well at least I think I do, gathering from the current information of my sex crave, and how large it is. But I don't answer, because there's this invisible barrier between us that we both just sort of look into, because we _know _we can't cross it. All we can do is look through it, and complain to each other through facial language, which is all just awkward staring.

That invisible barrier is called sexual tension, and it's so fucking big that I can almost see it.

"You're right." He says quickly, only to get up and rush away. " I guess my libido _is_ profuse. Well, I'm off to take care of said problem. Studio in an hour. And at that time, I don't want any more talk of this siliness. Clear? Right. Off than."

As quick as that, he's gone. The door laughs at me as it shutters closed and leaves me alone. In fact, everything laughs at me because this should be sort of funny. The comedic conversation, the funny leave-off. And maybe somewhere to someone, it is funny.

But not here. Not to me, because it means something. All of this blocking, and refusal, and denial of things...

It means that any time I wanted, we could fuck. I could slam through his door right now, and take him for a ride back to nineteen ninety four, but I won't. Because if I did, It'd be another three steps back, another three ahead. Same place.

We'd both be zoned in our own worlds, because we're two things that don't work together. Nothing but sex and smoke and mirrors, even if we wanted to be real. No matter how much we may want our worlds to collide, they can't because they will crash. Burn. Someone will break, something will go wrong. Than where will we be?

The stickler is, we can't resist. He can, of course, but I can't. Believe me, I've tried to buff things back to normal, but they won't smoothen. That first night so many years ago is what made the scratch that won't come out. I don't think it ever will.

So love is a game. A beautiful game, and it's one we can't win.

I don't want to play anymore.

I want to stop.

_/

The decision came quick, and somewhat easily.

It came because I looked at him again, and I looked at him with every love there is. He looked back, and he looked with something else. Something hollow, something careless.

We will never be what I want, and we will _never _be the same again. Being your friend only hurts more, Murdoc. Seeing you only kills me.

Tonight, I'm leaving.

Tonight, my things are hidden under the sofa, and above it on the real sofa, is where I fall into a deep pretend sleep. One so deep that I almost believe it myself. believing our all we can really do to hide from them.

My fake sleep is all part of the trickery that is, the run away. The plan that took me nearly three hours to work out, which isn't much when you scatter time in front of you and really look at its peices.

Murdoc doesn't seem to care that I lay here. I'm a log in the dark of the living room, and he creeps quietly past so not to wake me. It's actually kind of warming, to see that. And upsetting, because I'll never see it again.

Never be hit. Never hear him grumble. Never laugh with him. Never, never, so many nevers it hurts.

But I say goodbye with my eyes as the last glimpse of Murdoc Niccals fades into the lift doors, with that same beep. And he is into the goodbye. Into the great, that maybe he will find. I really hope he does. I hope maybe I do to.

Another hour sleeps away, and it's already three fourty four a.m. Now is the time, and I can feel it. So I creep up from the sofa, and I grab my things. Not much. A bag of only a few important things, plenty of food and water. Plastic beach isn't too far away from land, I'm guessing. Maybe Murdoc just says that to frighten me up.

There is one more thing, at the bottom of my bag. Something I'd never leave. Not for the life of me. The geisha box. The one that shines in dying sunets, and slips into the night when the sun fades away. The heaviest possession, with the heaviest history.

I tiptoe out as stealthy as I can, and I try my hardest not to catch any feelings by the image of Noodle and Russel cheer me up. Maybe I can find them? But what would I say about Murdoc?

Murdoc... Don't think about him! The guilt pricks at me of course, like it always does. His dreams of the album? What now?

I brush the guilt away with imaginary fingertips, and before it hits me, I'm outside. In the night, on the beach. The ugly beautiful shores of plastic beach, where soda cans and doll legs creep up on the shores like vomit, and they stink like it too.

Still though, even if it's ugly on the inside, I've got to give it the sky. I'll hand it the reward for the most beautiful sky I've ever painted on black purple night, that isn't painted at all. It's just that pretty, and it tricks you. Tricks you into false hope, and romance that isn't there.

Another thing to leave behind. The deep skies of plastic beach.

On the smelly shore, there's a lifeboat, that looks like it's hardly got any life to it at all. Small, white, chipping, it sits ready for me, and rocking quietly over the water that cries softly in the night.

I'd love for this whole goodbye to be long, and sentimental, but nobody has time for sentimental anymore. I'm no exception. My things nearly fly from my hands into the boat, where the rest of the supplies I've already set up are.

The next thing to get in there is me, so I settle myself into it, and the water around me quivers and shakes the boat from side to side. I let it calm down, and the boat soon stays sane in the black water.

The oars are much heavier than I thought them to be once they hit the water, and I start rowing. I'm not nearly strong enough for this, but I've got to go on. So I row, and I row, and before time kicks me in the back, it's been half an hour, and I'm only maybe thirty feet from the shore.

Christ, am I tired. This plan, I didn't think it through too well... Maybe I'm over reacting? This could all just be a show in my head, everything is good, I'll go back-

But no. Everything is not just good, and I will not just go back. Nothing worth achieving is easy, so go off! Be gone in the night, stuart! Leave!

And so I do. To save the suffering, minutes pass.

An hour slips by.

Half an hour joins that.

Two hours.

Three. Three hours, and the beach is roughly the size of a small guitar in my vision. Far enough, but I'm still worried. In fact, I'm _so_ worried.

The oars settle in their ore places, and I collapse to a lay down, hands on my stomach, feet on the edge, and eyes to that lump of plastic perfection in the distance. I still seem to quiver with some sort of worry. Like I've forgotten something... Why am I so scared?

What am I missing?

What is there to fear?

What am I afraid of?

... The answer to that comes too quickly. I'm not ready for it, nor will I ever be.

Because what am I afraid of? The only thing in the world that could cause my death in a single glance? Not zombies, not vampires, nothing that creeps and grazes the floor under your bed for flakes of skin...

But oh hell, is it a _monster_.

One hell of a monster.

And I feel it's presence so alive in my bloodstream. So very alive, and so very real. So shocking that in the next twenty seconds, I'll be dead. For sure.

Because you see, I've forgotten one of plastic beaches rules, a very important one. No one gets out, unless Murdoc says so. Murdoc hasn't said so. And for my crime, I'll have the one and only guard to listen to: The big blue beast, the demon of the sea, Satan's goldfish...

The one and only, Sabueso. And my, does he stink of rage tonight.

**AN: dun dun dun! Haha, thanks for reading.**

**Don't forget to review and tell me what you think!**

**Thanks guys :)**


	43. 43:And so we Give in

**Chapter 43:And so, we give in**

**AN: So this chapter is purrtty long, but I really do hope you give it a chance, because I think it's my favorite one that I've written. I think you'll all be pretty happy with this.**

**There are the cute things of course, but there's also funnier things, because I wanted to brighten the mood for you all for just a little bit :) **

And as I wait to die, I'll only ask for the skies not to fade.

The still water around me becomes manic. It is nothing like still anymore, and it breaks and it crashes with thrashing anger that erupts over the sides and soaks everything, including the whole of my body. But I only ask for the skies to stay the same. Because they really are just so _beautiful. _However, a cluster of sick looking clouds up ahead threatens to fade those stars. Take them away...

The fear in my veins still boils my blood to a cold shaken flow, and I still panic like I knew I would. And I want so bad to be calm, because there's no getting out of this. I might as well die with the peace I extract from the stars. So please do not fade. Stay, for me.

And _please _eyes... Just don't... Don't fucking look at that _thing, _that big ugly piece of living land... But oh hell, I look. Almost just to spite my own wish, I turn my head, and there it is.

On cue of my view, the world isn't quiet, it fucking shuts the hell _up._ My eyes greet the deaf atmosphere, and that god forsaken mound of blue flesh, with glassy red-black buttons for eyes. It just looks at me with this face, this _I'm going to use your veins as floss _face.

And... And I don't even know what I do. How I react, or anything. Or better yet, I just don't react with anything but every shock that anything or anyone in the world has ever tasted. And that amounts to the freeze. The freezing of everything.

The closure of the eyes comes, and the world is black, with the surrounding hum of crashing water and the songs of the sea. The song that waits for the strike of the beast to add its chorus.

But I won't wait. My body doesn't think so, so it locks, and I drop like the fly we'd watched to long ago, me and Murdoc.

_A deep breath escapes him, as he doesn't answer, but speaks up in an obvious change of subject._

_"That fly.." He points forward, to the wall he's been looking at. A small fly crawls up the surface._

_"He hasn't got long to live. I'd say.. twenty more seconds, at most." _

_In my head, I count down from twenty. Sure enough, In about twenty seconds, he drops to the floor. Gone._

_"How could you tell?" I ask quietly._

_"Just could.. Are you gay?" That was a weird change of subject._

And jesus, that was a weird change of subject. Even now, when I'm eight seconds away of passing out in utter fear, this is what I think of? Well maybe, it's a nice thought... And... maybe I like it.

And maybe I like you, Murdoc. Maybe just maybe, I wake up in the morning and the first thing I do is debate with myself on whether or not the thought of you consumes my imagination whole. But than again, you are right now, aren't you? I'm sorry... I'm sorry I left you, but I'm _so_ scared. I can't even think when I'm like this... Why couldn't we be okay? Not perfect... Just okay?

And remember what I said about passing out in fear in eight seconds? I think... It may have been more than eight seconds.

Water crashes, I crash. Goodbye pretty lights. Stay beautiful. Stay beautiful for he who consumes me. Stay the pretty stars.

_/

And in the wake of a dead second, I am alive. I only know this because whatever air surrounds my life deprived body, is freakishly hot, but not hot enough to be the firey bowels of hell.

Above it being totally scorching out, I'm still damp. And not wet, or sort of wet, but that uncomfortable warm-wet that you get when the sun cooks your wet body to that perfect peed-your-pants (Thankfully, I didn't really pee myself) texture, that's only applied to every inch of your body.

And wherever I am, I lie flat and stuck like a sweaty snail to whatever woody surface holds me there. Wherever I am, it rocks gently but roughly back and forth with the sway of the sea water that must be underneath. So I'm still in the ocean?

And I didn't notice for whatever odd reason, but up until now I was physically and mentally unable to breathe. Much to my luck though, something wet and squishy, and almost salty provides me with all the air I might need, pushing it manually in and out, in and out. Along with giving me air, it helps with getting rid of all that water I had trapped in my lungs or what not. Is that even possible? I should ask mum-

*Pfack*

Now pfack I think, is the only way I can describe the sound that goes along with a fist driving into my stomach, and again, and again, until said described lung or stomach water from earlier twists its way up from wherever it was, and pop.

Eyes still zipped to their limits, I erupt from my spot to a full sit, and out goes the mystery water, spewing in every direction that I can't even see. But it just keeps going! Like there's some unknown ever-quick supply of disgusting stomach acid and seawater combo, all just exploding out my throat.

About a second after it starts, the fleshy air giver detaches itself and gives voice to its presence.

"Fucking gross!" It cringes, and no sooner after it talks do I realize it isn't an _it _at all. I give my eyes the sight they deserve, and here...

Here this is... The back of Murdoc's head, because he's turned around so quickly that I didn't even get a chance to see his face. But the glimpse I do catch is of one angry eye. Burning bright with exhaustion and anger in only half of a glimpse of an eye.

But I'm still coughing. I try to talk, but I'm just gulping in these breaths of my own air, and it feels _so _good. But I _try_ to talk through pauses for coughing.

"M-Murdoc.. Oh my g... Holy shit. What happened?"

"You're a dick, that's what happened." His rage is a tired raspy hum. He leans over in his spot so far away, so the bones in the nape of his neck poke out slightly under his glistening skin. Chin in his hands, he seems to sulk.

"How did you get out here?" I ask. Without so much of a cough, his arm sticks out to point a finger. This finger points to a mound of crumbling of ocean junk wood, sinking under the newly risen sun.

"What's that?" I ask.

"My boat." He grumbles. I steal a second glance. Sure enough, just barely visible are the characteristics and noticable features of Murdocs poor ship. The one that's apparently gotten him here and back and more. And I almost feel bad, actually. It being my fault, and all. And him... saving my life.

"You saved my life." I mumble under the wind that just now decides to pick up. The burnt morning behind him stays un interrupted and still, as he turns his head only slightly to give me a skeptical eye.

"For about the third time, yes." He says. "And it's funny, you know... How I tend to do all these solid things for you, and your method of payback turns out to be destroying my ship and nearly getting us both killed by that mass of sea flesh."

"How did you find-"

"I'm not a dumb fuck, stuart, I knew you left. Woke up and you weren't there. Sure enough, I look out the window and what do I see? A little blot of white, which by chance turns out to be one of _my _lifeboats which _you _stole, with half a damned bite taken out of it. So I rush my arse out at six thirty in the morning to rescue your stupid self, but you're not there."

By now, he's explaining things wildly with childish hand motions, while still keeping angry Murdoc characteristics.

I raise an eyebrow. "Not there? Where was I?"

"On the tongue of a fucking whale." He furrows his eyebrows. "Litteraly. I had to make it _sneeze-o _so I could fish you out, as easy as _that_ is." I ignore his special changes on the word _sneeze._

And I could die right now if I didn't already feel so dead. My lip quivers with my heart, as I speak in shaken tongue.

"I... Tongue of a whale?... How is that even.. possible?"

"Don't ask me, if I'd have known I would have written the book and placed it neatly by your bedside while I gave you the kiss of life." His sarcasm hurts, but what hurts more is the fact that I've been downed by a damn _whale._

He carries on. "The stupid thing went up in rage and destroyed my boat, AND yours. You're lucky there was a lifeboat tied to me ship. But can you guess what my ship didn't have?"

"Umm... Insurance?" My guess fails, and he throws his fists down in anger.

"No, damnit, no! WE'VE GOT NO OARS. NOTHING TO ROW WITH. HOW IN THE BLAZING BOWELS OF LUCIFERS KITCHEN CABINET ARE WE SUPPOSED TO GET BACK TO THE FUCKING SHORE?"

No... No oars? This comes as a bit of a shock. Everything comes as a bit of a shock, actually. "Umm... I don't know."

"Ofcourse you don't know. You don't know anything worth knowing." The last of his words sound nearly upset as he turns himself around and rots in his own pissiness.

The thorn here is he's played not one beat wrong... I'm the bad guy here. I'm the one with the betrayal to carry... None of this is his fault. This is all on me... And it feels so _bad_.

"I... Muds, I'm sorry-"

"Just shut it." He nearly whispers.

"But, I-"

"Just... hush your face. Five minutes, at least."

And so I'm hush. This is the least I can do for him, seeing as I've just doomed us both, and he's saved my life for about the fourth time. By now, I owe him everything

The ocean talks, and the wind talks, and we do are as quiet as the world is wild, but my heart beats as wild as can be. I've just survived a fucking whale attack. My greatest fear has been beat, and all I can do is fear it even more. What sense does that mean?

And so enters the quiet, and the beginning of hour one.

_/

**Hour 2: And I also drop them**

As it turns out, the angry stink that was in the mood started to fade off about twenty minutes after Murdoc's half tantrum had ended, and the air currently, is mostly clear of left-over grudges. Or at least I hope.

I'm slumped on my back now, neck against the rim of the boat with my eyes to the sun that I try to steer clear of. As for Murdoc, his position differs not much from mine, except his position gives three less shits than mine. By that, I mean that his limbs are limp and flimsy looking. Murdoc, the paper doll.

The only noise is that of the ocean and birds, that only seem to make everything even more awkward.

"I really needa' drop a log." Murdoc speaks surprisingly clearly. "Like, bad."

"Ew." I laugh slightly. "That's uhh... that's nice."

"Well I do, you might as well know."

"Cool." I blurt. "You better be good at you know... holding it-"

But he just removes himself from the anything but steady floor, and gets to fiddling with his belt buckle.

"Uh. What umm... What are you doing?" I ask.

"Taking a dump."

"In the boat? No, you're sick!" I protest, but he only just looks at me like I'm an idiot, or something.

"No, not on the boat. Shitting is what the ocean is for, smart one.

"Please don't." I sigh with my head cupped in my hands. "I really don't feel like watching you take a poop today."

"Don't watch me, than." He half chuckles, only to keep with the unbuckling as I turn my head in fear of what he's to unveil. Well actually, half of me is pushing to look, but the other half is doing what it needs to do, which is staying away from as much drama as possible.

The boat drops about half of it's ballance as it drops half of it's passengers. A watery clash hits my ear drums, as I find it safe to turn my head and inspect the situation. I peek over to find Murdoc wading quite pleasantly in the ocean. I almost find it looking fun, and than I remember what he's actually doing.

He catches my eye and keeps a straight face as he speaks. "I'm taking a shit, you know. And you're watching."

"Oh god." I flip my head back, and forcefully topple to a lay down, where I wait for this all to be good and over.

"Are you done yet?" I ask.

"Haven't even started, but I'll be sure to give you the updates." His nearly drowned off voice jokes.

"Yeah, please don't." I exhale deeply and start on the waiting, just trying to get past this without getting his complementary details.

"Okay wait... We're almost there..." He informs me. "And... Alright, now we're in business."

"I don't need to know about your stool movements, thank you." I shout over the hum of the waves.

"Sure you do. For instance... Halfway over... Just about" Murdoc seems rather bright today. A bit too much so.

"YOU'RE SICK-"

"Done." He rings, all too happily. "You wanna' throw me a paper towel? I think there's a couple in that bag under the boat-bench."

Under said boat bench, there _is_ a bag. A few bags, actually.

"Where'd you get stuff?" I ask.

He shrugs with his only visible shoulders in the water. "Saved a few things. Never mind, get my arse wipes."

Not that bad, but he only grosses me out more by the minute. I fetch them for him anyways, and carefully hand them to him. I avert my eyes again to avoid certain sights. Few minutes or so later, he calls for his rescue.

"Umm... Okay, I'm not stuck.." He says. "But I kind of can't get back up."

My eyes roll as the situation lets itself sink in. "Oh my god, you need life alert. Do you need help?"

"I don't need your help!" He hisses. "I... I need you to service me. That's it. Now make yourself useful."

Well I'm sure I'm of plenty of use _already_, but I knee my way over anyways and check this out. Well looking at him like this makes me feel a lot more powerful, him being so low down in the water that he has to Crain his neck to look up at me.

"I could spit on you right now and all you could do is sit there." I laugh, but it's only funny to me, apparently. He just cringes at my stupidity.

"Yeah, try it. That'll be real fun." He deadpans. "Now come on."

Let me tell you, it's not easy. The water just makes him heavier, and it's already awkward having to pull him up by his hands. But contrary to what I thought, I muster the strength I've got, and he musters whatever the hell he has, and in a few seconds he's hanging over the edge of the boat on his stomach, almost there.

Almost, but not quite, because he has to fuck it up by saying stupid things.

"Well this worked. Probably only because you're so accustomed to grabbing man parts."

So just to give him slight belief, I flash him a slight smile. "You're right. I'm also used to dropping them."

So I drop him, and he's fully submerged into the deep. I won this one. And damn, I won it good.

_/

**Hour 4:** **Ernk**

The sentence _Four hours trapped on a fucking lifeboat_ means one thing, and one thing only. It means if it's possible, my head is about half a second away from suffering a hunger caused explosion. And if that's even possible, we're both about to find out.

Between me and Murdoc, all we've consumed in the last four hours is half a can each of _No fear: Extreme _energy drink, which by the way failed miserably on the energy part, and a dangerously dry biscuit to each of us, that tasted like caked sand and chalk when it crumbled on my tongue.

And all we've to do to keep our minds off of the fact that we're both practically dying of everything there is to die of, is play stupid games. I'm not actually sure if Murdoc ever _has _played a game other than toying with my mind, but he's actually pretty good at these ones. Better than I am, at very least. We lie flat and face the sky, and we play this little game with hidden excitement. Or at least I do.

The current game is, movie quotes. Short story short, I'm losing. Bad.

"_You are the worst thing thats ever happened to me_." He states, in a normal tone. I'm taken aback.

"Wow um, okay, Dick?" I reply bitterly.

He gives this sigh laugh, that I can't really place. "No tweedle-dumb-fuck, it's a movie quote. What movie than, huh?"

"Oh.." I brighten up a bit, and get to thinking. "Shit... Wow this is actually familiar, I'm gonna' kick myself later for not getting this... Damn, I dunno, gimme a hint?"

"No hints, hints are for empty headed flour sacks."

"Agh.. I dunno' than. What's it from?"

"2D..." He groans. "You are really _really _terrible at this. That was from _fight club."_

"Gah, I knew that one! I swear, I did!"

"Liar. Right, your turn."

I nod at this, and start on cooking something up. Something hard, something he won't get... But he _has_ seen like_ everything_.

"_There's an awful lot you could tell about someone by their shoes." _I decide.

The sun cooks my open eyes, and in the time it takes me to blink the heat off, he's got it.

"Forrest gump. You lose. My turn."

"Gah. Alright." A heavy sigh rises in my chest. "Gimme an easy one."

"_Hello, my name is inigo montoya. You killed my father_.-"

"_Prepare to die!" _I finish his quote with widen victory swelled eyes. "Princess bride! I know this one- Hold on, how does a bloke like you end up seeing a movie like princess bride?"

"Now hold on just a sweet second." He stops me with a grain of defense in his voice, and a finger up. "Now while that movie has some stupid things in it, it had some great action for its day. Pirates and fencing and killer eels, all of that great shit. Your case is closed. Your turn. Test me."

"You're gonna need a bigger boat."

"Jaws. You lose, once again." He gloats.

"Damn- gah. Fuck this all. Alright... now give me something I know, okay? Something you know I would have seen."

"I don't monitor the movies you watch."

"Murdoc." I whine to him. He gives in with a simple groan, and seems to think in the quiet for a moment. A long moment, before he quietly starts up.

"_You could be happy here_..." His voice is nearly unheard, as I turn my head to watch the words float away from his lips. "I _could take care of you... I wouldn't let anybody hurt you... We could grow up together."_

The last word pops quietly from his mouth, and I listen to it die away, as I only look at he who seems so far away, and I savor the meaning in his words... How true and perfectly every word that left his tongue fits. I forget the game, and I quiver at his touch that isn't his touch. It was only the wind.

When I don't complain, or answer, or even grunt or sigh or anything, he turns and checks for me. I'm still here, just stuck in the vibe he gives off. He furrows his eyebrows slightly nervously.

"Uhh... Are you guessing, or are you just going to stare at me like.."

He cuts himself off, and reaches what I'm feeling. He corrects himself.

"No, uh.. That was a movie quote... _E.T._"

"Oh." I say, a bit too quickly. "Yeah, uh, I know... I just sort of... lost track, I guess."

"Yeah..." He agrees with a lack of approval in his voice. "Okay. Lost track..."

Oh god. The awkward air jumps into my lungs, and I know I've got to fix this... Say something.. Come on, say something! Do it!

"Lets make a bet, okay? Everytime someone says the word gross, you have to go _ernk_ really quickly and really loud, and you have to make it sound weird, okay?"

Well... That has to be the most interesting thing I've ever done to avert awkwardness.

"Ernk?" His eyebrows develop a weirded out furrow, as my apparent dare catches him. "Ernk? Why? That's the stupidest thing I've ever-"

"So you're a pussy, than?" I chuckle, and all of the sudden, I'm actually into this. Because hey, who can honestly say that doesn't sound kind of funny?

"No, that's just the stupidest idea I've ever crossed paths with. And don't be growing balls anytime soon D, I'll knock you on your-"

"Fine, fine." I tease him with my tone. "I guess I'll just have to ask Dave, or Cyborg. You know, someone with a _real _sense of humor. Someone who isn't so... gross?"

"Ernk." He groans, with none of the life that the word _ernk _deserves."

"No no no, you've got to do it like.. like _Ernk!_ Do it like that."

"No, I'm not doing it again. You didn't say gross."

"Gross." I say.

"Ernk." He tries again with a stone solid face.

"Gross!" I laugh, as he remains silent, and slightly pissed, but slightly happy. I can see it in that little half smile that he tries to desperately to pull into a frown. "Gross, gross gross gross gross!"

"ERNK! FUCKING ERNK. IF I HEAR THE WORD GROSS ONE MORE TIME, I SWEAR ON-"

"GROSS!"

And he ernked. And ernk has worked its way into my new favorite word.  
_

**Hour 6: And so, we give in**

Murdoc hates music that he doesn't like. Obvious, right? I mean, nobody likes music they don't like, that's just logic. But than you have people like Murdoc. Now when Murdoc doesn't like a song, he doesn't just dislike it. I mean he _really _hates it, and hearing it will just make him _fume._

So what better way to mess with him than poking at that factor, huh? So I do. My stomach hurts, and my head hurts, I've got a hell of a cough, and everything pretty much sucks, so I might as well annoy him to his limits, right? Ofcourse.

My weapon of choice? _Stay _by _Lisa Loeb_

So I belt that shit out like my throat is a cannon, and the words are the cannon balls, which I fire straight into his ears. "_AND I THOUGHT WHAT I FELT WAS SIMPLE-"_

"OH MY FUCKING- WILL YOU JUST SHUT THAT NOISE OF YOURS, I TOLD YOU THREE TIMES ALREADY-" As of now, his hands are clasped over his ears like it might actually be dangerous to hear this.

I carry on anyways. "_AND I THOUGHT THAT I DON'T BELONG_-"

"I _WILL_ KILL YOU. I'LL DO WHATEVER IT TAKES, JUST QUIT IT, MY EARDRUMS ARE BLEEDING-" So now he's on his back, nearly ready to have a full blown exorcism, but I still don't care.

"Not till you sing a line, buddy- _AND NOW THAT I AM LEAVING_-"

"I will _not._ I WILL _NOT_. I COULD JUST STRANGLE YOU RIGHT NOW, DO YOU REALIZE THAT? I'M JUST SPARING YOU FOR NOW, GIVING YOU CHANCES, BUT-"

So the quiet hum of the ocean, has now happily been replaces with the merciless yelling and screaming of the both of us. And I couldn't love it more.

"_NOW I KNOW THAT I DID SOMETHING WRONG_-"

"_CAUSE' I MISSED YOU_." That line was not me. That line was Murdoc angrily shouting lyrics to a girly song at the top of his lines, and it is one of the greatest things I've ever heard.

"ARE YOU HAPPY YOU TWIT?" He scolds me with rage, but I know it's harmless. Under all the thick layers of pissy anger, he's laughing. I know it.

"If I had this on camera..." This only came out in between laughter though, as I hold my stomach and hunch over in a complete fit of hilarious victory.

"Yeah yeah, this is all so hilarious, isn't it?" He's broken from his anger, and it's replaces with a mischievous look, complete with curled fingers and a half twisted smile.

"Hell yeah it is." I wipe the slight tears from laughter that have collected under my eyes.

"You know what's even funnier though?"

"Yeah?..." I ask him, taking no break from my laughter. "And what would that be?"

"This."

It is quick, and I don't even see it happen. All this is, is a flash of baby blue sky, to complete deep blue, and the crash of my body penetrating the water, backward, headfirst, as the air that is actually water wets me completely. I didn't even have a chance to see him push me in.

At first, I'm low and deep, and I get that feeling you get when you're so far under the surface. That _Holy shit I'm not going to come up in time, and there better not be a fat kid on a raft above me when I get up there _feeling. But fate loves me today, and she sets me free to the surface.

But when I do rise, I'm not mad. Hell, anyone would be, especially for the fact that I can't swim too well, but I'm still laughing, and I find it rather hard to be angry when I see that sickly coloured face laughing back at me.

I wade in the cold sea with my hands, and I try to be mad, but I'm still laughing.

"Oh, fuck you with a shovel." I chuckle as the water spits at my mouth, and I spit it back.

"I like the wet look." He jokes, and peeks over almost innocently. "It's a good look for you, you should invest in becoming a mermaid."

"Merman." I correct him, with a correcting finger. "And I'm the one who's supposed to be pushing you off boats, arsehat."

"Who says?"

My reply isn't a reply to his question, but rather a reply to the situation that part of me honestly loves. "Fuck off, I hate water."

"Why than? You've got the blue hair, don't you like, spawn from the ocean or something?"

"Ofcourse. I hatched from a fish egg, you know that." I poke back with harmless sarcasm, than switching to reality. "No, I hate wet clothes. Everyone hates wet clothes."

"Everyone? Maybe I like wet clothes, speak for yourself, mate."

"Yeah, that's nice. Help me up, why don't you."

"No." He chuckles. "I'm good."

"Screw off, let me up man!"

"Just swim around for a bit."

"I let you up!" I complain to him, but he pushes it away with a shake of the head.

"Come on." I whine. "I hate being wet, just-"

"Take your clothes off." He suggests with... this tone in his voice. It, was a bit too straight forward. Solid sounding, and serious.

My expression cools off, and I just sort of look at him. "What?"

"You don't like wet clothes, take your clothes off. Won't take long for them to dry, it's hotter than shit. Take em' off."

I eye him with slight curiosity. He shrugs at my doubt.

"You'll look at me." I mope.

"2D..." He lowers one eyebrow. "Comeon, it's not like I haven't seen-... Or just stay in the water if you want."

I stay skeptical for a moment, because I'm still too unsure... But this is life. This is plastic beach, this is us, and this is now. All we can do is live in it, so I decide.

"Alright." I shrug, and from there comes my strip. I quietly work this boring old t-shit away from my skin, and as It peels up to the spot where it's not underwater, it becomes harder and more awkward to pull off. But I slip it over my head, and toss it casually to the boat.

Quickly it tags over the side of the boat and we watch as it hits... Well, he looks at the shirt, but I look at the man that watches the shirt.

Not a second passes, and things get bad. By bad, I mean my groin starts to pulsate slow at first, and than quickly. With want. My teeth pinch my bottom lip as a pleasurable shock races from my spine to my brain, and explodes with absolute need, absolute longing for the man in the boat.

Every past encounter races in my mind. The moans, the sweat, the touches, the thrusts. They all play back in picture perfect quality that sexually haunts my imagination.

It has been _four god damned months_ since I've had any action.

It has been _three god damned years _since I've touched you in all the ways I want to touch you. And my sexual frustration is softly killing me.

"On second thought." I cough. "I think I'm fine with being wet, just uh... help me up."

He looks as if he gives my reasoning a second thought, but seems to shake it off with the blink of an eye, and offers me a hand. He's stronger than I am, and it goes easier than when I had to come to his rescue. Thankfully quick enough, I'm back in the boat, and drenched in salty sea juice... That just sounded disgusting.

"Change your mind?" He asks as we settle back into our spots.

"Uhh..." My answer is undeveloped, because all I think I could develop right now is dirty talk... Either that or its all I want to do. Something however, seems to be developing...

"Always the wimpette, 2D." He sighs. "Probably do to your chronic fear of your own penis. The one you didn't even know you had."

And my candle is lit. I'm done. I'm done with his joking, it's time for the truth, and it's time for it now.

"Or..." I shake. "Maybe it's because I want to fuck you."

He's surprised by my out burst. He opens his mouth a bit as if to question, but I cut him off.

"Maybe it's because-because I haven't any sexual contact in four months? Huh? Maybe that's it?" I'm suddenly getting angry, as I make my way closer to prove a point somehow. He still remains stuck in shock.

"Or perhaps it's because you flaunt yourself without even knowing it? Because every time you turn your head I look at you, and I think _Man, if he only knew how fucking gay I feel everytime you're around me._"

I take a breath and almost calm down, but I don't. "Your like... this force, Murdoc. You just have this essence about you, that just... Eugh! It makes me want to... Want to.."

He slowly cocks his head to the side, and he jokes again because that's what people do when they fall into situations like this. "Sing Lisa Loeb songs and get yourself pushed off a boat?"

He obviously doesn't get how serious I am about this. And he obviously doesn't get how hard me makes me, and how bad I want to do _everything under the moon _to him.

"No." I shake my head, and prepare the fatal correction. "Make me want to do this..."

And for once, the controller is mine. In an instant, I fall to him and I take his face in my hands as my prize as I force my lips upon the treasure that is his lips, and I explore the dark corners of his mouth with my slippery tongue, and his is only still.

Still, he does not ask me to stop. We only fall faint with the eyes of time watching us, but we pay no attention, as he falls to a sit up against the short wall of the boat, and I position myself on his lap while still keeping our mouths intact. His acceptance comes, with the bundling of his arms around my shoulders. I keep them there, though the right one is still sore.

I soak him with my wet presence, and he doesn't seem to care. Neither of us care, because there is nothing to care about but sex when you haven't had it in four months.

As long as I'm alive, none of this will end until I get what I want. And screw everything, screw it all, _I will_ get what I want.

The ocean is calm, and it may be still, but it is _wild_ beneath the surface, and it's full of new things happening, and old things happening again, and things exploding around every corner. It sways, and it rocks, and it restlessly swirls, because it doesn't give a fuck.

We are like the ocean.

We are _exactly like the ocean._

**AN: I hate to leave you off on a soon to be lemon :P You'll just have to see though :D**

**Anyways, don't forget to tell me what you think! I really do love what you guys think :)**

**Thank you all so much! It really does mean the world to me that people actually read this. Thank you again!**


	44. 44:Melt Away

**Chapter 44: Melt Away**

**Continued:**

My heart is a car and his touch is the key that turns me on.

And so wildly do we race down life's roads together, kept in each others arms the way that maybe we should be. I'm still sopping wet, but it only seems to please him more as little droplets from soaken strands of my hair fall quietly down on his face.

From his face to collarbone slides my hands. delicately my fingers trace his collarbone, and than back up to his neck. I think, there's something I like about his neck. Nothing special, just a neck. Maybe the fact that it's his neck. Either way, I like it.

A look of slight confusion takes his features when I take my mouth away a bit too quick. Like he's done something wrong. But he's only just done everything right.

"Everything okay?" His voice is soft, but rusty. Those eyes absorb my gaze as he playfully toys with a sopping strand of my hair. "Or, are you plotting to throttle me or something?"

I only now notice that my hands still take the neck that I love in a subtle grasp, like I own that thing. I wish I did, though. I wish I could say I owned you Murdoc. Not in a bad way, just the _I get you, you get me _way. _We don't really get anyone else._

You said that once. I wonder, do you remember?

I've frozen in my thoughts again, so it seems. I melt them away, and melt back into him with a soft smile, as I lighten up with the neck touching.

"Yeah, sorry." I whisper sheepishly, just inches away from his mouth. My chin dips as look to the floor quite awkwardly, but keeping our touch.

Jesus, it's only been a couple of months since I've gotten any, and the first time I get a chance with someone I actually _want _to share this with, I make like I'm going to throttle him? Really?

"It's fine." He assures me carefully. "We're both a little bit out of sorts right now. It happens."

"I know, I know." I say. Still resisting to look him in the eye. Ashamed. "I just uh... Hey it's been a while. Don't think I'm going to be weak with this, alright? Because I'm not. I'm just... I just-"

"You're wanting me to forgive your screw ups?"

Well that's a nice way of putting it. But it's the truth...

"Uhm.. Yeah." I agree with warmed cheeks.

He gives me a forgiving shrug, and a gentle joke with his words. "_As you wish_."

I laugh at this. At his acceptance, at the situation. Our ability to snap back, and his dealing with my awkward trouble. I laugh, and I sink my mouth back to that neck that I love to much. Just tracing every inch, leaving kisses, and invisible words like _I missed you so much_ and _I'm sorry_.

And I give those apologies whispers in between soft pecks of the lips.

"I'm sorry." Kiss. "For trying to leave." Peck. "And for thinking you were a murderer." Caress. "And for anything and everything else."

"Don't be." He breathes, while sliding sneaky well trained fingers around the beginning of the back of my neck. "When you're sorry, you have to actually have something to be sorry for. You really didn't. If you really want to show you're sorry though, by all means, keep what you're doing there."

I stop again to smile faintly. At how un-Murdoc this is, and how Murdoc this is at the same time. A good mix. A good enough mix to remind me of who we are, and that we tease, and we love, and we make mistakes and that's really okay. Speaking of teasing...

I decide to be a little shit just once more. See where it gets me. Take the wheel terrible music. Take the wheel, _lisa loeb._

"_You say-"_ I poke at him. "_I only hear what I-"_

"Alright, we're done here." His back stiffens up, and I'm bumped away, strewn aside. Even though he might be seriously pissed, I giggle at him anyways.

"Come on." I grin as he turns his head on me. "So what, we're done?"

"Apparently."

"Shut up." The adventurous bone in me grows stronger, and I pull him back up, only to push him to a lay down, where I get back to my favorite spot on his neck as we lay side by side and he scolds me jokingly.

"You're a little shit, you know that?" There's a sliver of laughter in his voice, and I know he was never mad, never even serious.

"I know. Now come on, lighten up and get back to me."

"Give me one good reason." He protests, with a lack of participation. In ever a mood to get things going, I stop. I take away my mouth. And I have a reason

I lean in for my mouth to hover gently before his ear. I give him a lush whisper.

"Because I _want you..."_ I quiver as the words leave my mouth and sink into his skin. After a moment to take it, his head turns slowly to face me.

"...Good. I reckoned you might."

"Oh you reckoned?"

"Yep."

"Oh you say?" And just once more the mischief eats me. "_You say- I only hear what I-"_

"Alright, you're finished now." He stops me, and before I start think we're done here he proves me wrong with the pulse of his lips upon mine, as he begins to fiddle with the buttons on my pants.

"And off with these." He adds in between embraces of the mouth. "They're annoying me. Being wet and clingy and all. Blocking _areas_ I want to get to."

I love how he talks, and the way he slides my wet jeans so ravenously off as they try to stick to my skin, but he forces them down till my legs are bare and damp.

As dominated and feminine as I may seem here, I have jobs to do too. I gradually graze my nails under the bottom of his shirt to his skin, where I work my fingers up in a light teasing motion to let him know the shirt has got to go. When he doesn't respond in that way, and just keeps with his tongue to my throat, I take action and begin to peel the fabric up. He catches the drift and breaks our tongue grasp to quickly tear it away over his neck, and toss it to wherever it wishes to fade.

And my has his body gotten better. With so much heavy working to do here on the beach, how couldn't it have? And I'm not going to say he used to be _fat, _but where there used to be certain flabby areas, it's melted away and hardened into something else. Most of it has, at least. I'm not about to point out imperfections.

The mixture of the ocean and our movement rocks the boat, and from where he is, he stylishly collapses onto me in an _I meant to do that _way. Even in accident, he makes it look so meant for. But he keeps this position as I try to laugh at the calamity of the situation, but there's no time for laughing when you're so pleasently attatched to someone elses mouth.

There's never really time for anything but kissing when you're kissing, unless you're doing it right. Even if your particular partner is unintentionally pressing down on your injured shoulder. Even when it cries with pain and all you can do is try to silence it... Well, unless you're me.

"Shoulder, shoulder." I blurt out as he pulls his mouth away in concern. "On my shoulder. Ow, ow."

"Right, right. Sorry." He whispers apologetically. "Your shoulder still fucked up? Yeesh."

_Yeesh_, is a funny last word to have before things get serious. Before we stop with the funny chatter again. He starts to trail these little bites and kisses, getting harder and sharper feeling as they get lower, from my neck to my shoulder, and to my chest as I tingle and flinch with satisfaction.

And lower and lower his lips trail... Torso... Hips... Until just right above the hem of my drawers, he leaves them over and over, more passionate, harder. Bites, kisses, stinging and stinging and feeling overly amazing.

But he just teases. He teases and teases, getting closer and closer to my groin as he goes, and I can't take it any more. In the past four months, I have never been as ready as I am right here, right now. Down under, down below, my penis is practically like _screaming _at me as it grows with every lingering second, erect and waiting.

"Okay." I breathe. "Murdoc, we're good now."

"Oh, are we? I didn't notice." His harmless sarcasm is nothing, but it heats me up a little more. "Good for you. I've been ready for a while."

"Right." I agree as the sweat from my forehead thickens. "Same page than. Now seriously... I need this... Like _now."_

"So I shouldn't keep you waiting?" He teases. "Maybe I will, maybe I won't."

"Please." I beg, because he wants me too. This is what he's trying to get from me, and he's got it. The groin teasing comes to an abrupt stop, and he emerges from there, to be hovering gently above my face.

"Well maybe I don't want to wait either."

So we don't wait any longer, and the mad scramble to remove every piece of clothing begins. And in the swish of the sea current, his pants are gone, and I watch as so professionally he discards his underwear like he's done so many times before. Than me, but I struggle because I however, _am not_ professional.

Sure, I've been with more women than most men, but most women are _not _Murdoc Niccals. Correction: All women are not Murdoc Niccals.

Than comes the same words that I'd uttered every single time before, and they do not change.

"Do we have anything?"

"You're thirty one years old Stuart, and you can't even say the word lubricant."

"Lubricant. There you go. Do we have any?"

He looks around as if this is a joke, and reports back to me with a straight face. "No, it seems the ocean's been having a shortage of lube, I guess."

His sarcasm only renders me harder, and I get to quick thinking. "Did you say you salvaged one of my bags?"

"Yeah, one."

And in said salvaged bag, there is a lubricated condom, which I retrieve silently. He catches sight of it and groans.

"Oh you've got to be shitting me. Come on, I don't wear condoms. Condoms aren't fun."

"Murdoc."

However, he still protests. "I mean seriously, it's not like I'll knock you up-"

"Murdoc."

"It won't hurt _that _bad, without one. It's not that dry out here-"

"Murdoc."

"Oh fine yeah, okay." He gives in with a slight sulk in his features, but still with that little spark that anyone might have when they're about to do this. I tear the edge off the little square wrapper and toss it to him. He pulls it from the package.

"Eugh. It's all oily." He waves the little wet bag between his fingers.

"That would be the point."

He gets to slipping it on, anyways. Though he likely never uses them with any of his usual game, he pulls it over his shaft quickly, and without hesitation.

Than it's quiet for a moment. But that rare quiet that isn't really an alright quiet, because nothing is going on but staring. He makes it okay by leaning in for one last soft peck on the corner of my lips, before speaking softly into my ear.

"Lie on your stomach."

I nod quietly before obeying, and lying to an arched position. It always does sort of suck though, lying this way, because I can't see him. Sure enough though, I'll be able to feel him.

This is where I wait for those long seconds. Wait for him to _join me, _in a way. The rock of the boat and his switching into position plays into my ear. Now for counting. Usually by five seconds, he's there. One... two... three... four...five...

And that bittersweet pain hits me like a soft bullet as he slowly pushes his rod deeper and deeper inside of me. I pinch my lip with my teeth as he enters. And we're there. It always hurts like this at first before he adjusts himself right. Bad, too. He always checks though, just to make sure I'm okay.

"You good?" Just as I know him to ask, he does.

"I will be." I salvage half of a smile for myself, out of the increasing pain. Off we go.

He starts off slow like he should. Gentle, and smooth though it pains me. Our breathing mixes and it gets deeper, and heavier, and the sound of it comforts me. Just knowing he's here.

As the minutes go by, it still hurts. Not a fiery pain, but like almost like an ache, or a sting that I can't really describe. More minutes, and I'm still in pain. Alot of it too. He seems to be having enough fun though, with his increasing speed and occasional funny commentary. He notices somethings up when I don't reply.

"Everything alright down there?" He asks. "You seem to be somewhere else."

I shake my head slightly. "Uhh... This still hurts.. Doesn't this usually not hurt by now?"

"Huh... Lemme' try something."

An abrupt change of motion hits us, as he swings his body to the left and we're both nearly knocked over. And shit, in those first few seconds I just want to stick a god damned needle inside his corneas. That's how bad it hurts. But when the shocked few seconds are gone, this feeling floods in. This just... _Wow._ Like, imagine riding a unicorn made out of candy over a bridge made out of clouds. All that, but in my _arse_. Wow, forget I said that.

And as it hits me with it's soft fiery hand, my vocal chords explode in this high pitched whine thing, that fades off into the seas, only to come back a few seconds later. And he doesn't tell me to be quiet. Not at all.

"The best part..." He whispers in between his own panting. "Is that Dave is locked up fixing the generator inside... Cyborg's charging... and we're so damned... far away from the island... _We can make as much noise as we want_."

"No more shutting up?" I breathe.

"No more shutting up. Now whine my steed, whine! Hya!"

That's the kind of funny commentary I'm talking about, and on that the back of his hand comes down on the arch of my back in a fiery slap. And from the slap, things only get faster, and hotter as he moves himself inward and outward and I switch from pleasure to pain, all too quick. But god does it feel _amazing._

"Hows that?" He asks lushly.

"Yeah. Right there. Just-" But I can barely even talk because he's just _so _good at this. Everything just feels so warm and spicy and tingly, as my shaft begins to pulsate with satisfaction, faster and faster.

"Harder..." I surprise myself by uttering through profuse moaning. "Shit, harder!"

"Harder?"

"Yes, yes... Oh _god,_ yes."

"I'll show you harder."

And boy, does he show me harder. His abilities take a turn of there own as he seems to push himself even _deeper_, and gives these quick, almost beastly thrusts that feel better with every growing second.

"Hows _that _for harder?"

"Murdoc you're_ amazing_." I whine. "Don't slow down, keep going."

"As you wish." And I almost want to laugh at that, his little sneak in of a movie quote. But I don't, because I'm too tangled up in him.

And as minutes go by, I only grow even more tangled up in this, even hotter. And it gets even harder to go on. Ten minutes go by. Than twenty. But I push myself, even though I know _exactly_ how close I am.

His nails down my back. They scratch in intense patterns, _very _intense patterns, so that I'm not really sure what he's trying to do. But I kind of like it, so I let it stay. As I near the end I know is coming, my mouth drops open even wider as my eyes shut themselves tight. I just want to tell him things, but I can't even talk through all my noise. Since no one is here, I'm making _alot _of it.

"Muds..." I breathe. "You're... you... You're _perfect_."

"Stu... Stupot, I..."

And he doesn't finish his words. Not that he needs to. Maybe it's better that way.

"You're fucking...You're... _everything_."

At this moment I love him, like I have every moment before this. Maybe just maybe that means I'm his everything. Maybe maybe...

Minutes later I'm biting my lip not to give in, and a few droplets of my own blood draw under my teeth. I have to... Come on... I can't let this end. To Murdoc, this is a game, and he knows he's going to win. He wants to, and he'll do anything he can to. Like softly caressing the back of his hand to my neck.

As strange as it sounds, that gets me. The tickle, the bodywide flinch that I produce. My climax. And that heightening feeling of pleasure that seeps around every inch of my body as one last top-of-my-lungs moan escapes my throat and echoes in the water.

My body starts to collapse as I spray out in a blur of white to the boat floor beneath me. If I weren't so into this moment, I'd be disgusted at my own cum sticking to the bottom of my stomach. And soon enough for me, he goes next with his own little words.

"Out we go, and... HELLO!" He finishes with those words as a spurt of warm fluid hits my back and I don't even mind. He stays and breathes and pants for a second to catch his escaping breath, before collapsing to his back on the floor beside me. Something here doesn't make sense though... I turn my tired head to him as he lies there.

"Weren't you wearing a condom?"

"Yeah."

"But didn't you just... finish on my back?" I ask him.

He smirks with pleasure and turns his head to me as I flip my tired body over to lye with him.

"Took it off before I came. Old habits die hard, such as cumming on people's backs. Especially yours."

A look of offense takes my face, but laughter also takes my voice. "You trampy bastard."

"Yeah, well..." He shrugs as he gets to pulling his drawers and pants back on. I just watch him seem to pose in front of that grayed blue sky, but he's only just putting his pants on. We both still breathe heavily from what just took place thirty seconds ago.

"Wow." I say.

"Wow what?"

"Wow... That was _fantastic_." I gape. "Why was that just so much better than usual."

Pants back on, he collapses right into that same spot. The sides of our sweat covered arms touch.

"Well, one: You never let me push it in _nearly _far enough. Props on being a brave lad this time. Also, it's been a good four months for you. Sex is always sweeter when it's been a while."

It seems to have gotten grayer out. Maybe we did that. I'd like to think so. His presence calls me. His rusty grace, his royal like charm. And I watch him lay so normally, hands folded up across his stomach.

He doesn't seem to care as I lightly knuzzle my chin onto his shoulder, and keep it there. He just watches the sky. No shooing, or _get off me_'s. absolutely calm.

"_I can't believe I just gave my panties to a geek_." He states.

"Excuse me?" I take a double take. "I'm not a geek, and you don't wear panties."

"Movie quote, stu. Which one?"

"Oh." I yawn. "Umm... Oh, I actually know this one. Sixteen Candles?"

"Good lad."

"Aha... Why would you watch sixteen candles?"

"Doesn't matter. Your turn-"

"I still love you."

"Huh." He mutters with his eyes drowning in the sky. "Wow... I actually can't get this one..."

His misinterpretation is kind of cute... But I'm not playing a game.

"That wasn't a movie quote." I murmur.

He doesn't change. Just looks around a few times and replies. "Oh..."

_Oh._ But what does that mean, Murdoc? What the hell does that mean? I wish you would tell me... I wish I could ask, but I can't because It'll ruin everything, and I just want to be with you right now... Melt away with you. Is that okay?

So I don't say anything, and neither does he. We shut up like we should, and we fall away together into sleep.

We drift.

We are snow in the sun, and together we melt away.

_/

Just as easily as we melted away, we freeze back and awake.

He though, was already awake. Clothes on, feet off the edge of the boat. Thinking, probably. The sun is nearly gone now. Just a yellow ghost of it in the sky. I must have been asleep for a while. So this is the first thing I ask.

"How long have I been asleep?"

"Dunno." He mutters with no face to show me. "I just woke up a bit ago. Sun is setting, though so probably a while."

I nod as the fact hits me that I'm completely naked, and the chill is poking at me. My clothes which have barely dried, help a little bit when I pull them on, but not much because they're so cold as they are.

The fact hits me.

"Murdoc, how are we going to get back? I mean, what if we never get back?"

"I don't know."

And I'd like to ask him again, but I don't. That's the answer.

But my head begins to drum with the pain that it usually gets a couple of hours after having sex, and I clench my teeth with a hand to my head like it'll stop it. It doesn't.

"Headache?" He asks quietly.

"Yeah." I complain. "How'd you know?"

"You make this little noise when you do. This little grunt type noise. I can hear it from a while away. Take this, liquid will help."

He tosses over the single bottle of water that we haven't used yet, for safety reasons. But it is wasted. The thing flies clear over my head only to drop like a fly into the water behind me.

"Oh, bollocks." I hiss at it as I listen to it plop. I reach down for it quickly though and end up retrieving it all right. But there's something I notice next to it when I grab it. Something metally, sticking out under the boat.

"Murdoc..." I say as I stare into it. "What kind of boat is this?"

"Rowboat."

"You sure it's not a motorboat?" I ask.

"Yeah." He says. "Think I'd notice if my own boat had a motor."

"... Come look at this." I call for him. A moment later, he's next to me.

"Right there." I point it out for him. "What is that?"

He catches a good look at it before this look takes over his face. "A motor."

"So this is a motor boat?"

"Yup."

"And we could have gotten back the whole time?"

"Yup."

Yup. Yup. And yup. Fuck us all.

**AN: I'm sorry most of this chapter was a lemon, but it was getting pretty long already, so I couldn't get much more there.**

**Thanks for reading, and don't forget to tell me what you think! :)**

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	45. 45:Death of an Innocent Music Box

**Chapter 45: Death of an Innocent Music Box**

**REVIEWER VOTE AT THE END! And it'd be super cool if you guys would vote, because I can't update until I get a good majority and amount of votes. Enjoy, and thanks for reading :D**

We are all in a way, Mysterious. There are always those walls around people, that skin that keeps away so many things inside them. So many deep mysterious things that we are likely to never know.

Only, I wish I was mysterious. I mean I know I've just said that everyone is mysterious, but if that were really a rule, I would be the one exception, the single loophole. Because I, well... I'm just Stuart. Everything there is to know about me you can pretty much tell if you look at me long enough.

I just wish I was like Murdoc. He's so hidden. He's so gone, and he's so here all at once, because he's one of those people with mystery in their eyes and unknown ambition deep inside them that I will never see. At the same time though, it angers me. Because where is he now? Not a damn five minutes ago did we get off the boat, and he's lost himself again, except he knows perfectly well where he is. I however, do not.

Maybe I just thought we could spend some time on stupid things, like real people do. Wolf down half a fridge of junk food, watch a movie, play X-box, praise the fact that we're not whale food, or dead on a crappy boat. But he's gone, and he's gone like one of those angry cats. They're somewhere, only they just don't want to be where _you _are.

The sky is now a dying yellow that is the leftovers of the long day. Sunset, and no one to watch it with. But why would he be here with me anyways? I am a band member. A screwable, touchable piece of empty skin and only that, in the eyes of the destroyer, who would be Murdoc. Fucked in the afternoon, and left just before for the birth of the dawn. That is me. And it makes me feel sort of sick, even though it shouldn't.

But if we were meant to sulk and cry in the fresh night, I would be normal. A lot of people would be normal. But it isn't normal, so I walk with the excitement of a dying peasant, and I eventually find my way inside after what seems like years of my lazy pace.

Not at any rate soon enough, I'm home. That little metal bubble underneath the sea, that has been painted the plastic colour _home_ by the possessions that are admittedly mine, and the piles of sour laundry and trash that I've made. But this isn't home. Home is nowhere where you feel like this.

Than it hits me, and it hits me so incredibly hard. Why do I feel like this? Murdoc hasn't done _anything_ wrong in the past few hours to down me. Not at all. I'm healthy, I've got things going for me, and I've just had a sexual encounter for the books a couple of hours ago. But I whine to myself because no one will listen. And that's why. We are friends, and we are only friends, but just close enough to something else to render me a wet towel in the cold sand. If wet towels are sad, anyways.

But the only things wet and itchy here, are the clothes on my back. I strip down again, this time for no one but the brutal reflection of a tired, whiny sack of boy in an ungenerous sized mirror. My shirt especially, has been irritating my upper back, like alot. Sort of burning to the forced smother of salty damp cloth.

Choosing to ignore it, I peel the shirt off. Not a second later, I choose not to ignore it because I'm a genuine nancy boy. I get a good mirror angle and turn around to my back, while craning my neck towards the mirror to get a peek.

And I'm surprised, but that's a lie, because I'm honestly not. Murdoc likes to scratch. A whole lot. And earlier when certain _seedy _activities were taking their place, he took his talent to another level. Yeah it felt a lot deeper, and more complicated when he was digging those talons in their figure eights and freeforms, but I didn't think anything of it. I should have, because they weren't figure eights or freeforms. More of an inscription, if you will.

_Murdoc_

Thin pink puffy letters, an inkless tatoo on the top of my back. He's carved his god damned name in my back, and it looks like it bled too, with these little spots of dried red scattered about every other line. I don't know whether to feel honored, or owned... Or both. So I just gape at this for a moment in pure disbelief. But what is there not to believe? This is Murdoc, I'm talking about here, not... not, goodguy mcgee, or whatever... That was the stupidest thing I've ever said.

Forget my dumb jokes, I should probably go shower or whatever.I'm pretty sure I smell like the inside of a whales mouth. After a quick change into some clothes that don't reek of seawater and the sweat and body juices of two men, I take myself up the lift to drown everything out under the warm waters of physical forgiveness.

Once I reach the lounge, I'm Instantly aware of the smell of him up here. That smell would be a rustically elegant swish of sweaty, rum dipped, rain soaked must. I'd recognize the scent from a mile away. It's black outside now, or at least it's black outside the window. That kind of black that leads me to believe that it might be purple if I were outside. The kind of sky that maybe Russ and Noodle might be swimming behind right about now, wherever they are. Doing what makes them happy.

Russel, and his drums and his voluminous beats that rattle the ground that we live on.

Noodle. The girl with the mind, and the heart to match it. The girl with but one thing I have to remember her by. A box. A beautiful little box, just as beautiful as her. Painted flowers, fading birds and shiny shiny wood for a shiny shiny girl.

A beautiful box that I've just now realized, was not in the bag Murdoc had salvaged for me. Or at least it didn't look like it, when I was salvaging for a condom, but I would have known. I would have seen it, and remembered her, and kicked myself for remembering her at such a time.

I speed up again, everything in me. My heart, my head, my mind... And my feet. This is now a mad dash back to my room, I'm tripping on things, I'm losing my half empty mind, I'm running for the life that lives inside that little box. With the ding of that stupid lift, I'm back in my room. It all goes down so quick, so nerve ridden.

My water attacked slum of a bag. Unzip. Dig. Not there. Dig again. Not there. Cast everything that isn't that box everywhere, and anywhere. Not there.

_Not there._

So it is only a box. Only a hunk of wood with a tattered velvet lining that rubs off the smell of old perfume from time to time. Only chipped legs, and fading paint. I panic. I still panic for it, because it was Noodle's and she is alive, sure, but what if we never see her again? I shiver, my bones lock, my head aches with the intensity of the burning sun, but through everything, I get up, and I run again.

Back to that stupid lift, back through the lounge that smells of him, back to wherever I'm going... I'm going to him. To Murdoc. I need _help._

"Murdoc?" My voice is heavy, but it shakes. "Murdoc, where are you?"

Not in the lounge. I go for the study, and I'm quick about it.

"Hello?"

"No answer. His bedroom is next. Even though by now I have every right to barge into his personal quarters un announced, I knock with a shaken fist.

"Muds?"

"Yeah alright, what is it?" His answer is tired and dripping with slow impatience. "I was about to shower off, what do you need?"

That's enough of a welcome for me. I let myself in. Shirtless and apparently ready to undress, he stands with the position of being ready to take his pants off. To shower, I mean.

"Didn't say you could just make yourself at home and waltz right in."

I ignore him. "Have you seen my box?"

"Which one, the one you've been hiding under your whole life, or an actual one?"

"The- the geisha box." I stutter. "It's brown and shiny, and it's got an oriental look about it. It was in the bag that you salvaged for me, it's not there anymore."

He doesn't care, and to show it, he averts his eyes from me and blazes up a fag."Yeah, about that, when you fell off to sleep I realized the boat was off level, and seeing as we didn't want it to sink thirty feet under the ocean, I threw some stuff out to level us up. Some yours, some mine, some-"

"You threw the music box... into the ocean?" My tone is soft and hurt. Fragile and broken. I look at him, but not at him. More inside of him.

"Yeah yeah, it's no big deal, mate." He says with a puff of white smoke. "I mean, it's just a stupid box."

_Just a stupid box..._

Only to you, because you don't know. Only to you, because you don't even care if she never comes back. But I can't say this... I only think of saying it, and I widen my eyes with all of the words that I try to hold back.

"It's not stupid..." I murmur in my quiet breath. "It's.. it wasn't... I... It-"

I fall to a sit at the edge of his bed and I watch the world screw me over once more.

"What's your deal?" He shrugs. "Come on, you can buy a new pretty box for all of your sparkly jewelry. One with rainbows and butterflies and fucking pixies."

He teases me like this is funny. Like he thinks this is a fucking game.

"It was... Noodle's... And you threw it into the sea..." I watch my feet with sullen eyes like they'll take me somewhere. Anywhere.

He stops for a moment and pulls his head up. "Wait, what?... Well than why the hell did you have your paws on it?!"

"She... she asked me If i would hang onto it for her before she went up to the windmill that day. She was going to get it fixed when... when she came back."

"Oh... uhh..." He looks a little bit sorry. Just a little bit. "Well uh... oops... I guess uh... Oh well."

"Oh well?" My voice slowly perks up to a certain anger. "Just oh well? You... you threw out the last thing I have of her!"

"2D, it's not like she's dead."

"h... HOW DO YOU KNOW?" This is the end of my holding back, and I get to my feet.

"Woah, calm down."

"YOU CALM DOWN, DON'T... Don't... Don't tell me to calm down, you have _no _right to tell me to calm down. Murdoc we have _no_ bleeding idea where in the world she is. What if we never see her again?!"

"Don't act like that." Quickly, he begins to get pissy too. "You don't... You don't know that they won't come back."

"Well what if they don't?! Then what!?" Our noise fills up the room, and I don't like it. "What if she's dead, and you threw out the last thing that we have of her? Then what, huh? THEN WHAT?"

"I DON'T KNOW, 2D." Temper. Gone. "YOU DON'T THINK I HAVEN'T THOUGHT OF THAT? HOW THE FUCK WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW THE STUPID BOX WAS HERS, I WAS TRYING TO SAVE US FROM SINKING. AND-"

He leaves off his yelling for an angry neutral"... And you know what? I'm done. I'm going to be straight forward here, okay?! I know she's not coming back. We. both. _know _that. She hasn't an idea where we are, and even if she did, why come back? Why be nearly killed again? Haven't we done her enough harm already? She's not coming back, and I threw that fucking thing off, and I'm sorry. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

All out of nowhere and everywhere, we're switched. I'm left to be the one who wants to keep believing, and I'm left the one who's holding onto a wish.

"Maybe..." I mumble. "Maybe she could. Maybe you were right, maybe- maybe she'll come home."

"This isn't home." He shakes his head in a fierce motion. "This place is big, and it's nice and what not, but it's not home to her, and it's not home to us, and it never will be. She isn't. ."

"SHE COULD." Now I'm shouting in the alcohol matted air. "YOU DON'T KNOW THAT EITHER, SO JUST STOP IT! IT'S NOT AS EASY FOR ME, MURDOC. IT'S NOT AS FUCKING EASY. MAYBE YOU CAN JUST DRESS UP A PEICE OF METAL AND CALL IT NOODLE, BUT I CAN'T, I CAN'T DO IT, AND THIS... This is all _so _fucking hard."

And I'm limp in the feet. Can't stand. Barely breathing. I sink back into the end of his bed and my hands fall victim to my head, which just needs someone to hold it.

We are as quiet as he deserves to be. And this stays that way until the only sound is the subtle ash of his cigarette to an unknown surface. Then to the end of the bed he sinks, where our thighs touch just slightly, and our heads hang with the bitterness of the truth.

"I'm sorry." He speaks with rare words. Quiet and fragile rare words, as he gently grasps my knee with the hand that scratches names into backs.

I don't reply. I have not a word to say.

"I uh... I really didn't mean to throw your thing out." It's an alright try, but I don't accept it. I don't know if he even needs to apologize, but I can't accept it because I can't even accept my own apology.

"Sometimes..." He breathes. "We do things. Stupid things, and we do them because we don't know any better. And there are roads we can choose to take. We can hold onto them, and hate ourselves and others for it, or we can move on with that hate and keep it to ourselves. Because between you and me, there is no real forgiveness. You can forgive someone, but you can never _forgive_ them. You may think you forgive someone, but you don't. You just don't."

He squeezes my kneecap ever so lightly. Like if we let go I might float away, but maybe that would be okay. We all want to float away sometimes.

"Why are you telling me this..." I nearly mouth, but carefully he hears my words.

"Because you deserve to know that you shouldn't forgive me, because I don't want your forgiveness."

"What if I never forgave you in the first place..."

"Than you're doing something right."

I breathe away the air stuck in my chest. "But what if I do forgive you?"

"Than you must be plain stupid... I guess that's okay."

That is the end of my music box. End of discussion, it is gone, she is gone, and I shouldn't forgive Murdoc for it, but I do because I'm flat out stupid. And he guesses that's okay.

The headache is my aftermath. The brainpinch that might send me backward if I were a little less tolerant. So it ruins everything. The headache, it just... It's like a disease... and it just controls me... tells me to ask things.

"Where's my vicodin?"

The floor seems to shake, but it doesn't. It is only my dramatization of Murdoc's reaction.

"Don't." He hisses quietly.

"That was in my bag too, It was in one of my boxes of things that you salvaged from kong." I argue. "And I put it in my bag when I tried to leave, so where is it?"

"Off in the ocean, where it needs to be. Now leave this."

"You wouldn't do that though!" Why am I doing this? Why can't I just leave us be? I stand up in defense. "You would have kept them, because only someone like _you _would have kept them!"

"Someone like _me?"_ His voice rots from a breakable carefull to solid. Solid and rotting. "What exactly is someone like _me_?"

"I dunno', someone who keeps my pills for himself, now where are they?"

Stuart, where the hell are you? What the hell are you? But I need them... My head... Why am I acting like this?

He stands up in defense of himself, and maybe of me too.

"What is _wrong _with you?"

The ultimate question.

"What's wrong with me?" I repeat. "What's wrong with me? I've just been swallowed by a giant bloody dolphin, you casted the only thing we've left from Noodle into the sea, and then the headache comes back, and you deny me this? This one thing? What's wrong with _you, _Murdoc?"

"Forget it. You wanna' kill yourself? Is that what you want? You want to slowly swallow yourself whole with these stupid things?"

"You're just like everyone else." I shake my head. "All of them. None of you understand, this isn't something you can just beat. I CAN'T... I just... It's been too long, I need them."

"YOU DON'T NEED SHIT."

"HOW DO YOU NOW WHAT I NEED?" And all I can hear is the sound of myself slowly tearing our world down. "YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT I NEED, YOU DON'T KNOW FUCKING ANYTHING, SO FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU AND ALL OF THEM."

I just watch him. I watch his image of me be completely spattered and botched. I watch us float farther and farther away with different seas that may never reach.

"Fine." He blurts quickly. Clothes and possessions fly in every direction as he gets to rifling through his clothing chest, before pulling out a large white bottle. I'm grabbed by my shirt collar and torn out of his door.

"You want to kill yourself? Fine. Don't let me stop you. The world could use less bipolar fucks like you anyways."

The feeling is a pill bottle to the head, and the sound is the slam of a door. The situation, is a mess of everything. My mess, my uncleanable mess. My mop is the pills.

So I pull a few out, and they're down my throat without the chance to taste them. Everything will be okay soon... A few more are torn out, and slid down my throat. Gone, and soon to be made into what is, _the okay_.

I want that box... I want it _so bad, _I just need to lay with it, and hear that song, and be okay... I need it... I need it...

We need what we must achieve.

And we must achieve what we need.

Let it be so.

**REVIEWER VOTE:**

**So as always, I have a different outcome figured for each choice, and it would be really cool if you could vote guys, cause I can't get the chapter up until I've got enough votes.**

_**Should 2D:**_

_**A: Go back and give Murdoc what for**_

_**or**_

_**B: Go and try to find the box**_

**Choose wisely loves :) Thank you so much for reading! It really means alot :D**

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	46. 46:Beautifully Broken

**Chapter 46:** Beautifully Broken

**Thanks so much for voting and reading this you guys :)**

**PS. I've put a couple of movie and song refferences in here. Extra points if you can spot em'!**

I wait for the after.

I leave him alone, because I am ashamed. Whatever my after may be, I stay for it . I wait for the after while I sulk in the _now_, and keep my arms curled around the ball of myself, like if I drop my arms I might come undone and spill through the cracks in the floor.

I stay by his door and I listen to the noise that he doesn't make. Almost like he's left. Maybe he's floated away. Maybe he's finally cut the glue from his feet, and he's floated through the open skylight for the escape that we all want. I wish I could float away, or up, or down. Wherever would take me.

And I just feel so _sick _of myself. Sick to death of the idea of myself, of whatever I am. Ashamed of the brain in my head, of the heart in my chest, of the very life I call my own. It was me who let this all happen... We are so fragile, yet I break us so easily into pieces and shards that are _so, so _hard to pick up. _So damn hard..._

A few more pills, and the pain goes, but leaves its shadow to remind me that I am not free. Not ever.

Today I am un-me. Not myself, so I have lost most of the control in what I do, so I get up. Even when I don't want to, I get up and I leave my quiet spot by the quieter doorway, and I leave, and I know exactly what I'm leaving for.

The box.

This zombie that is me, trails away from his grave, and he looks for his box. So the ocean calls in soft whispers of wild water, and I follow it. Time, as out of sorts as it feels, seems to be on my side and in a moment I'm there again. Under the sickening grey black of the vast sky, where the stars have hid from me, because even they're ashamed. I was right last night, about the threats of rain, because here it is. Those little drops that fall just to taunt you, and make you feel colder than you already feel. They don't get to me.

"_Have you forgotten there's a whale out there that's got a vendetta set for us both? Get the hell away from there!"_

He must have caught me. Must have come outside in hopes of breaking things only more. He wont, though. This is my decision, and I want my box. So I only stalk closer and closer to the sea, on feet that grow heavy in the wet muck of trashy and filth that tackles most of the ground here.

_"2D! Just... just stop being weird, and get inside, okay? What on earth are you trying to do?"_

So you're not only the voice in my head... I guess you're actually here, now. Maybe I'm not as wacked out as I thought. I can hear you Murdoc, but I can't. I can feel you, but I can't because I dont know what the hell is wrong with me. I've never been more afraid of anything in my _life_. whales, dolphins, spooks, disease, anything... I've never been more afraid of my own self. And it scares me.

"... I'm scared." I tell the ocean, but Murdoc who is _not _the ocean, chooses to reply.

"Well no fucking mystery there, you've got a crippling fear of whales and you're basically inviting yourself to its dinner plate."

"Not of the whale..." I murmur, and mistake my own voice for the wind. "Of myself, I think."

So I go to the ocean. I go to the box. Just like the dream, I walk for the ocean, and it will be okay. This is all so fucking stupid, and I haven't the slightest Idea why I think this will work, but It will in some way... I'll find the box, and I'll come home, and I'll go to sleep. I'll wake up and everything will be okay. My ankles are wet by the flow first, and the ocean welcomes me back with a bitter hello. That's okay, I don't mind it. Than my knees, but no time for my thighs.

Murdoc, I'm not yours. You have made that very clear,and so you have no right to grab for the collar of my shirt and drag me from the ocean, like you are.

"What are you doing?" I mumble.

"You're fucking _insane." _That wasn't an answer, that was jab, and it hurts.

"Well just... I... Stop! Let me be!" So i fight back. I thrash, and I kick away, and it only angers him more so enough to jerk me even harder away as I watch my chances of obtaining that music box slip slip slip away...

It is warm, and light again as the dark dies away and I wish for it to come back, but wish for it stay as far away from it can, because right now I'm so confused. I continue to thrash, and jerk away, and drag him down as he pulls, but he wins as he always does.

There is this ding. This annoying, eardrum punching ding that I've grown to hate, and I know where we are. The lift. I haven't noticed it until now, but I'm mumble screaming, and weakly firing dirty insults at him, and he doesn't appreciate it.

"Snap out of it!" He growls as we start to shake. Well, only I do, because he shakes me by the sides of my arms. "What the fuck is up with you?"

This is no way to get an answer, because I can't even talk. He shakes me and shakes me, and all I want to do is melt through his fingertips and soak through the creases of the lift compartment. But I don't. Instead, I talk.

"I don't know." Drop by drop I seem to come to quick terms. I wrench away from his harsh hands, and he lets go.

"I don't know..." I repeat. "I..."

If ever I hated a noise so much, it's that ding, and it makes the situation all so more pleasant by cheerfully telling us we're here. Scratched silvery doors slide open to greet me with my artifical life.

The room that will never be mine. The plastic bubble that flavors itself _me._ An ever so touchy Murdoc escorts me in with one hand to his pocket, and one to drag me through the doors.

I'm unsure what to do. Fall to the floor? Keep standing? He makes the decision for me, and forces me angrily to a sit-down on the bed.

The life in his eyes is retired, bored and grey. Lacking the hot spark that I used to know so well. He runs a hand coarsely through his hair and sighs.

"Have you gone completely _bonkers, _what is this?"

"I don't now." The only three words to my vocabulary right now. "I don't know..."

"You... You-..." He stutters with shake, or fear, or some kind of anger in his voice. It almost frightens me. "You ask why you cant have the pills back, huh? Because _this _is what you do... This!"

"I wasn't doing nothing wrong..." I protest to only myself. "I only wanted that box back, I was just going to go get it..."

"And how... how do you think you _were _going to go get it, huh? Just walk into the ocean and fucking RETRIVE IT?"

"I DON'T KNOW, I DON'T FUCKING KNOW!" I blow him off with my steam. "I PANICKED, IS THAT OKAY WITH YOU? IS IT OKAY WITH YOU THAT- THAT SOMETIMES PEOPLE DON'T KNOW WHAT THEY'RE DOING?"

"Stuart, with _you_... you HAVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING!" He fires back with a voice that pierces my very existence. "PEOPLE LIKE YOU CAN'T _AFFORD_ NOT TO KNOW WHAT THEY'RE DOING."

"Stop it." I shake my head and breathe out. "Stop treating me like I'm a kid. I'm not."

He scoffs. "You might as well be! Damnit, are you even aware of half of your actions? It's almost not worth it, taking care of you like this!"

"You don't take care of me..."

"Hell yes I do!" He fights with the truth that he thinks he has. "EVERY. DAMN. DAY. I've got to make sure you stay away from pills, I've got to make sure you stay away from the water, and fuck, you couldn't even go out in _public _back at kong without getting arrested, or getting fucking fondled, or crashing a stupid car! And I'M the one that needs to make sure you don't."

"THAN WHY DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING?" I will not cry, I will _not_ cry, _I will not cry. Fuck you Stuart, do not cry._

I take a breath and swallow the lump that burdens me as he watches like there might be care there, under his thick skin. "If you take such good care of me, than why does all this keep happening?"

The light in his eyes is what I keep looking for. It is not there, and it's my fault. I've killed it.

"I dunno'." He answers softly. "Maybe I'm still finding that out too."

He reaches out for the lift button, and I wait for the ding when he pushes it. He won't look at me. I don't blame him, I'm a train wreck, an agro-burnout, a complete mess of everything we've worked so hard at. A failure.

The lift arrives, and I do myself a solid and ignore the ding.

"I'll be... in the study." He murmurs. "Should you need me..."

Don't go. Please don't go... Should I need you? Should I need you?

_should you need me._

"I _do_ need you." I talk in whispers that shake and poke for me to cry, but I wont let myself. "I don't know why... But sometimes, in my life, every now and than, I need you _so _bad."

In the time that the lift doors close, he is supposed to be gone. He is not. He stays waiting in front of those doors as they close, and he watches them bid goodbye.

"Maybe that was a rhetorical question..." I shrug. "But I do.. need you, I mean... I just... I'm sorry, I hate getting this way, I really do... But our world Murdoc, it's just so_ fucked up_, and I swear to god I'm going crazy in it... But even when I forget about everything else, and all I want is the pills, there's you... And every now and again, I need you."

No answer. But I want you to answer so bad... Why wont you answer? Say something, say anything. I need to know you're there...

"You don't need me." He grunts with insecurity and dead hatred. "You don't need me, and I don't need you, so stop acting like we're so drawn to eachother."

"But we are!" I fight with him, and I fight back the tears that pressure me.. I fight _so_ _hard._ "You know by hell we are, Murdoc! But you can't even decide if you want to show it or not, because you're too damn indecisive with what you feel! But what about a few years ago, huh? What about the deal we worked out? Don't you remember? You get me, I get you? We don't really get anyone else. YOU said that, not me."

"I was an idiot, okay? It didn't work, and christ on _fire_, Stuart... You don't think we tried? We did. We tried fucking _hard_, but it didn't work, and maybe that's a good thing."

"Like _shit_ it was a good thing, and it wasn't even our damned faults, Murdoc." By now I'm standing with shaking greif in my weak ankles. I huff away the bitter air in my chest, and damnit, _don't cry. _

"Shit, we could have _been _something." I groan. "And you haven't any _idea_ how much it hurts, to be the only one who wants to keep trying... Murdoc, I'm not like you. Unlike you, I know what I need... and...and..."

So they come. Uninvited and warm and clean, come the few tears that roll down my cheeks like rain down the winter slicker in my closet that still smells of him.

"And god damnit, why do you think I go back to the pills? I _need _you."

His answer is hollow, and non existant, because it only exists in my mind. Making like I never even asked, he keeps still, and turned from me like I'm the ugliest thing in the world.

"Don't be like this." I shake my head and choke back everything, I've got to get a hold... "Don't be like this mate, I _know_ you, and you're a hardman, you're tough, and you don't need anything but a carton of smokes and a jug of whiskey... But there's something in you, something there that needs me too... I know there is-"

"You _don't _know me." His voice, hard and low... It denies itself. He knows he's lying. "You don't know me, so stop acting like you do..."

I don't know you? Is that so? I don't know you?" There is a cold block of seconds that passes by without him leaving, and with every passing second he is closer to being gone. I need to act fast, I need to say something... But it comes so easily..

I know everything that you deny yourself. Because I myself, am one of them.

Deep breath... Fire. "... When you were five years old, you wanted to be a fisherman because you loved the sea. Your father told you it was a stupid idea. Said you'd never be anything more than a grimy little punk, and you listened, because you had no one else to listen to."

He is ofcourse, silent. Any other way and I might be worried. For a few crickety seconds, the only sound is the hum of the ocean around us, and maybe the sweat glistening slowly down my forehead.

"How do you know that." He speaks in quiet tongue of fear, and embarrassment, coated in anger.

"You get drunk a lot. And I listen to you." Fire again. More dangerously this time.

"You liked a girl once in highschool. Strange, right? Her name was Julianne, and she had short auburn hair. That's about all you remember of her. Liking someone scared you because all you'd ever used girls for before was sex... You thought one day maybe you'd try to change, and talk to her for once... She wasn't at school that day because she'd hung herself the night before. You told me this a few days after the music video for dirty harry was shot."

He still doesn't turn to me, because he's afraid. This I know. I doubt it with every trusty nerve in me, but maybe he's crying. I feel like he is.

He begins to quiver angrily. "Shut your fucking trap, or I swear by hell I'll-"

Fire again. Charge. "You're afraid of heights, you respect spiders because they eat their parents to survive, you get up when you want, except on Wednesdays when you get rudely awakened by Dave the repairman, you don't like orange juice, you hate the taste of parsley, ant-eaters make you nervous, and you used to have a pet garden snake named Gulliver when you were younger, until your brother Hannibal flushed him down the toilet bowl, because he took the term _snake the toilet _too litteral. I could go on."

With every word my throat aches more, and with every second loads more of the realization that this isn't going to end well."

"But you wont go on, because you know if you do you might find yourself lacking limbs in the morning." He threatens me with his cold jabs that I turn a shoulder to.

And one last time... Breathe out. Boom.

"And you're afraid of me." I linger on every deadly shaking word that I utter. "Even when we worked something out at kong... You never even said you loved me. You're afraid of me because you're afraid of letting yourself love me. Because loving another man? Well that's not right, is it?"

"Shut up."

"Maybe it is right, Murdoc." I silently beg. "Maybe it _is _okay."

"Listen you scrawny little bag of shit." All too quick, he grabs me by collar. Too roughly. Like nothing he's done before.

His warm breath shakes and wavers, but he uses everything in his power to remain Murdoc. To remain tough. "Keep yourself _away_ from me. Do you understand? From now on, you're too keep to yourself other than practice and recording sessions. If I ever hear so much more than a _hello _or _which key is this to be in, _than you'll find yourself so far underwater that not even the fish will be able to find you rot. Understand?"

His breath is that of an angry man. A man in blind anger, in blind hatred.

"UNDERSTAND?!"

"Fuck off." I whisper my thoughts to his lips which hover inches away from mine.

My words hit him, and he drops me to the bed. Within three flustered seconds, he is gone, out of my world like a bird into the blue. With his leaving, a little bit more of me breaks off and dies.

Only then do I cry. Nothing loud, no whining. Just the few little drops that finally get what they want and break from my eyes as they soil my warm cheeks. Fuck them, fuck me, fuck Murdoc, fuck us all.

Fuck this love, because it's still here. He gives me a death threat, and I love him all the much more. So I lie back with only myself to hold, and I let the world sink into my shaking skin.

Wet cheek to the pillow, I clench my eyes shut to hide from the world. To hide from this plastic tomb that I don't _ever_ want to see again. I silently choke the tears away, and shoo away the pity that I don't deserve.

I fall to my sleep, and I cry myself farther and farther away into what is, _the okay_ that we refuse to reach. Why can't we be okay? Who the hell says we can't be okay, and what kind of people are we that we are always supposed to be this way?

Maybe happy is for those who deserve it. We do not. We are animals, we are robots. Made to be exactly a certain way, like we were supposed to be. But we are broken, dismantled. Duds.

We have broken each other in the most beautiful way possible.

_/

_**A strange dream, from the eyes of a friend:**_

_Hey stu..._

_You sleep like the ocean. Have I told you that? Those little blue wisps that fall so gently over your face... You blow them upward with your breathing, but only the few of them stick to your tear stained cheeks. Your hair is the water, your breathing is the current. So you sleep like the ocean._

_It's funny though, I think... That this is your dream, and you're dreaming from my point of view. Trying to take over me, are you? Well, we'll have none of that now, will we?_

_By the way, you were right, you know... About everything. About the spiders, and orange juice, and ant-eaters, and my wanting to be a fisherman. Hell, why d'you think I chose a hunk of garbage eating plastic in the middle of the ocean as our HQ? ...Julianne too, you were right about her. She really was a sweet girl, but not near so as much as you. Rubbish, though. It's bleak rubbish that only the good die so young. On the bright side, maybe that means I'll live to be quite old. Like I'd even want to._

_You turn and toss in your sleep, and flip around gently on that little cot of yours. You have a headache again. I know, because you've uttered that little whiney grunt you do when you've got them. I've always kind of fancied it. Come to think of it, I've always kind of fancied you._

_And come to think of it, you fancy me too. Not only have you told me, but I can sort of see it, with the way you move, and the creaks in your fragile voice. Hope I'm not wrong._

_So I just watch you. You and your little sleep patterns, and your grunts and breathing. All the more does it make you you. I sort of love it... Sort of..._

_"Murdoc?" You have awoken with a foggy grunt of my name, and a child like stretch of your spidery limbs. How weird is it though, to see yourself waking in your own dreams?_

_"Are you there?" Worry quakes slightly in your tired voice. _

_"Mhm." I sigh quietly, in order to fit the way you wake up just perfectly. "Yeah, I'm here."_

_You bid me no good morning, and you don't ask for a glass of water, or an extra pillow like you do when you're sick, or sleeping. You ask a question. One of your many talents._

_"Who the hell are we?" Your voice wakes up and becomes real. "Am I you, or are you me, I mean... I'm so confused."_

_"Go back to sleep."_

_And on my command, like the robot you sort of are, you fall back to your sleep. I don't know the answer. To who we are, I mean._

_You know you'll wake up in an hour or so, and I'll be rotten, and nasty, and make you cry, and you'll come back and fall asleep again. You know someday maybe I'll admit that I love you, like you know I do, but I need you to know how hard it is to do that. I've told you maybe twice in your life, but I do love you, and I've only said it so little because it's fucking hard, everything is hard._

_We're not programmed this way, you and me. We're not. I'm not. Not to love you, not to love a man._

_But we are broken, like you've thought before._

_We are beautifully broken, and if only we could really just see that ourselves... If only.  
_

**AN: Yes, BIG plans coming up. Most of this I've been planning since day one, and I'm happy that I've gotten to do so much of it. **

**I'm sorry if some of you are getting bored, I'm really trying to keep you entertained, I promise! Do keep in mind, this IS from VERY beginning to VERY end, so it has been a long and bumpy ride for all of us, and our little blue and green sailors, hasn't it?**

**But thank you all so much, and you have NO IDEA how much I love you all! It really just means everything that you all take the time to read my work :D**

**Please do tell me what you think, and don't hold your opinions! I love you all :)**

**Thanks**


	47. 47:Talks like Rain,Sleeps like the Ocean

**Chapter 47: Talks like rain, sleeps like the ocean**

**AN:Well, are you all still here? 47 chapters already, wow. If you stuck it out, I give you major props, and thank you so much! :)**

_My batteries are dead._ This, works its way into my first thought of the morning.

My circuits are pulled. My hard drive is completely fried. I'm not even talking about electronics...

I was right, and Murdoc was right, if the Murdoc from my dream was even real at all. We are all robots, machines. Pre-made to work exactly the way we are supposed to. Packaged and shipped to work perfectly and without flaw. I however, do not work perfectly. One of my pieces is gone, and they gave it to Murdoc instead. It's somewhere inside of him, and I'm not getting it back.

So as well as being broken, my batteries are dead. My batteries being, my will to do anything, or work, or eat, or even really function. Only lie there with myself, and gently fade out until the battery in my leg is completely out of use.

And I hate this _so much_. That feeling, that terrible ugly feeling that just eats you alive. It's almost sort of worry. A worry that just like... _evolves _itself bigger and bigger... Until I don't even know what to do with it. Maybe I'll just do what we do with everything else that hurts. Drown it out with vicodin.

_"All's you need is your zombie movies, and your keyboards, and your wonderful voice, and your humor, and.. and your friendliness, and..and-"_

Oh _no_. Not this again, anything but this, I fucking hate memories, just stop it... Why brain, do you choose to remember stupid things, at moments like this? It makes no sense at all. I'm going _insane._

This little white bottle I clutch in my claws, is about a third empty now. Must have downed about a third last night... Jesus, it's almost scary, knowing how tolerant I've gotten of these things. Well, down the hatch. I pop about four or five and wait for them to do their work.

"_You're. ."_

Christ, I can't do this. Stop it. This isn't the real Murdoc, only memories. It's okay Stuart, it's really okay! Stop shaking... you're alright... Really...

_"THERES NOTHING TO TALK ABOUT, LET THE FUCK GO YOU STUPID LITTLE FAGGOT, WHY CANT YOU JUST LEAVE ME ALONE?"_

See?... He hated you. He still does... I shake under my own preasure, like the roof is closing in. It might as well. I wouldn't care.

_"I was thinking... That... We could try."_

WE DID! We did try, and you said it yourself, we tried _so_ fucking _hard_, but we failed, and you didn't want to try again. It's not my fault... It's... not my... fault. So just leave me alone... Leave my head. Let my batteries die, and leave me to sink away...

"_Stuart ... I'm sorry. Alright? I don't care about the fucking car anymore, just get in..."_

Please... stop. I'm crying now. I don't even know how it's happened, or when it started, but I am. For the second time in the last twenty-four hours, any backbone I have leaks out of my eyes, and I clasp my hand over my mouth like it will help. Like it might hold me back, but it doesn't.

_"You're so... weird.. I mean, good weird... Just so interesting, and special, and... You were everything the world wakes up to look for... You still are, have I told you that? I mean as a brother-friend-pal-buddy thing, I'm telling you this: You're a worthy human being, D. And I..."_

Shut up! I... I can't take this, it's killing me, can't you see? It's killing me... _But how can you kill what's already dead?_

_"Listen you scrawny little bag of shit. Keep yourself away from me. Do you understand? From now on, you're too keep to yourself other than practice and recording sessions. If I ever hear so much more than a "hello" or "which key is this to be in", than you'll find yourself so far underwater that not even the fish will be able to find you rot. Understand?"_

Yeah. Yeah, I understand. Crystal fucking clear.

His words are a broken record as I drag myself up. Cold, and hard, and scratchy, his broken words force their way into my mind, and play out so loudly, while the air around me stays silent, warm and stuffy. But I feel so cold...

The pill bottle and I enter the lift together, and we're all each other has. But the pills will soon die off, and I'll be left to wilt like I was always supposed to. I don't even hear the ding as the door closes. I think maybe I've just lost it already. I've lost everything else, so why not lose my mind?

"Where am I going?" I whisper to myself sullenly. Maybe I have an answer. Maybe I don't. Anywhere is close enough.

"Anywhere." I mutter. "Anywhere is fine."

_/

I think I wish I was a real robot. Not just hypothetically.

That way the water that gently patters down and cleans only my outer self, would kill me, and it wouldn't even be my fault. They'd blame it on the water, and rebuild another one as easily as they'd built me.

The shower is cold, but I kind of like it that way. I feel like I probably deserve it. Standing is for people who have their shit together, so I'm just a lump on the ground, holding himself around the knees, and letting the grimy soap bubbles collect around his feet. I watch them go, pass down into the drain. I wish I was like soap bubbles. I also wish I was like robots, and rain, and other things that die so easily.

The boat scene is pretty much all washed away now. The smell of sweat, and bodily fluids, and whale spit. All gone. The memory though stays, twenty times stronger than the grime and the smell. And it will never go. These things can't just be washed away with water and soap. But why can't they?

The water gets too cold eventually, and being the jellyfish I am, I get out and face the air that only sticks to my wet body and makes me even colder. My spine quivers as a chill escapes the air and trickles up my spine. The towel helps, as I dry myself up with its rough comfort, but it doesn't help much, because most of the chill that I feel is on the inside.

So I'm halfway dressed, and like the graceful son of a bitch I am, I catch my toe on a loose floortile and nearly smack the floor. Damn it, this was built what, eight months ago? Already the tiles are coming loose... But maybe there's a reason? All of the others are perfectly in tact, but this one isn't.

I get on my knees for no sexual reason, thank- you, and I pry away at this little loose tile. Sure enough, and I should have expected this, there's a little secret compartment under here, complete with a half a pound of dust, and a nearly full bottle of cognac. Out of alcohol, Murdoc? You're either really stupid, or just an arsehole, or both. My money's on both.

A few swigs and a couple of pills in, I start to feel sick. But it's a good sick... It makes me feel almost like this artificial happy. But artificial or not, it's something... The glazed liquid sloshes around in the even glazier bottle, and I watch it with my eyes that are probably the most glazed of all. Twenty more minutes, and another so many swigs of the bitter warmth hits my body, and everything starts to feel a little more loose. Even more so.

Who needs Murdoc? Who needs me, who needs plastic beach? Who needs this filthy album? I should just up and off myself, show him.

_Go ahead. Do it._

Shut up conscience, you don't know shit.

_Well hell, I'm you, and if you know so much than so do I. What does the world need you for anyways?_

Nothing. Stop reminding me, I already know.

_No you don't. You're already on the brink of suicide again, why don't you just do it already? Fuck, look at yourself..._

So I do. With staggering senses and matching feet, I find myself back in the mirror. But it's not me, it's not me... It's this pale beast of a man, with tight skin like parchment paper, and thin thorny bones that poke out and show themselves sharper in every direction. With these eyes that have been black for most of his life, but now they're noticeably darker. Maybe before they reflected things. Important things. Now it's all gone.

_Fuck it all, what are you? And it's not just how you look, that doesn't even really matter, but what are you? _The me in the mirror... His mouth moves, and his eyebrows furrow, and he talks, but I do none of what this reflection does.

"I dunno.." I mumble.

_I mean hey, you used to be kind of an idol. Now what are you? Some faggot pill crazed drunk loon who talks to himself in the mirror and hears things in his head_

"Maybe... It's not my fault." My words slur and slip around.

_Ofcourse it's your fault. You made it happen, so it's your fault. You know it is._

"I know." I groan at myself. "I already know, just leave me alone."

So he leaves me alone. The thing in the mirror distorts, and the sharp bones melt away, and the parchment paper skin rips, and it builds right up back into a thin and slightly muscly green man.

_Listen you scrawny little bag of shit._

"No..." I shake my head and whine. "No, stop..."

_Keep yourself away from me. Do you understand? From now on, you're too keep to yourself other than practice and recording sessions. If I ever hear so much more than a hello or which key is this to be in, than you'll find yourself so far underwater that not even the fish will be able to find you rot. Understand?_

"I'm sorry..."

_Keep yourself away from me. Do you understand? From now on, you're too keep to yourself other than practice and recording sessions. If I ever hear so much more than a hello or which key is this to be in, than you'll find yourself so far underwater that not even the fish will be able to find you rot. Understand?_

"I didn't..."

_Keep yourself away from me. Do you understand? From now on, you're too keep to yourself other than practice and recording sessions. If I ever hear so much more than a hello or which key is this to be in, than you'll find yourself so far underwater that not even the fish will be able to find you rot. Understand?_

"FUCK OFF!" Smash. Crash. He is thin air, with the impact of my fists to the glass, which slides to the floor and shatters again, only to scatter about like snowflakes to the cold ground. My fists are cut, and don't feel sorry. It's my fault. They bleed, and the red runs down my wrists, and I didn't even mean for it...

I didn't even notice myself fall, but bruised and bloody fisted, I'm lying on the ground. Aware of the world that I've let down. Cheek to the tile ocean, that I wish to drown in. An open bottle of pills scatters the little white fiends to the ground. I paw them over, and hold about seven or eight in my hand.

And you, cognac bottle. Luckily not broken yet, I drag you over and let you soak my insides too, but I wait and save the rest.

The last twelve years... Those last bittersweet years run me by. The tears, the sweat, the laughter, the blood, performances, sex, pranks, crying, sleeping, screwing around, eating, falling, driving, fighting, loving, dying.

"2D. What did I tell you? It's recording time you galoot, come on." Real Murdoc calls from somewhere close by. Something warm tells me to ignore him, and I do. I smile tearily at the pills in my palm, and I get ready to welcome them home.

_Knock Knock_

"You've been in the shower already for a good hour, you couldn't have smelled that bad." He's right outside now. I can hear him.

"You go ahead..." My words are barely given any voice. "I'm going home..."

This is my stop. It's been a pleasure, and I thank the world for being wonderful while it could. I cram those eight little white deaths into my mouth, and the cognac wets them as it drips its bitter flow onto my tongue.

"What do you mean by-... Stuart, open this door." He sounds worried by now. He shouldn't be. We're both about to be okay. Finally. "STUART, OPEN THE BLOODY DOOR RIGHT NOW."

I swallow that lovely mix of cognac and little white rocks. And the eight track that is my life, plays over and over and over inside my head... Everything is quiet, and slow, but also so noisy. Something loud, just banging and kicking over and over again...

But only when it happens am I smart enough to see what's happening.

The door kicks in, and I'm _so _ashamed. With the look of witnessing near death itself on his face, he spends a moment in utter shock as I watch him shutter with alien emotion.

"Shit..." He mutters with an icy nervous tongue, as he falls to the floor. Nothing you can do now... I'm sorry. I'm scooped by his panicked hands, and brought to his lap, my head supported by his knee.

"What the hell have you done... Wake up. WAKE UP!" I watch him yell and beg, with my slivered eyes, as he suddenly comes across a spilled bottle of cognac and a tipped bottle of vicodin. Stage two kicks in while he catches on. My legs begin to tremble, as the feeling floods from every inch of me.

"You didn't..." He mouths with thin pale lips. "You... you couldn't..."

The look on his face takes all of my satisfaction away. The fear, the anger, the depression painted on his pale face. The thought that I could do something like this to someone I care about... What's wrong with me?

I don't have much time to feel bad though, because he acts quick, as the world around us goes on so quietly. He doesn't even ask if I want to live, before my mouth is pried open, and his salty skinned fingers force their way through my teeth, and down down down my throat...

What the hell are you doing, Murdoc? Stop it, I... He's trying to make me throw up, I get it now. I try and gag him away as he forces them down farther and harder with every gag I give. I cough and I choke as he hits that spot, and my stomach begins to turn, and flop, while on the outside, it rolls up and down as I forcefully dry heave.

And I heave and I heave, but they keep coming out dry. It's what I want, at least. But he won't give up. He pushes again, and again, half a dozen times as I try so hard not to give in. I do, of course. The last heave is wet, and substancey, as a gust of warm flow slides up from my stomach, and splatters to the ground. But it keeps going.

The last spurt of vomit triggers more, and a chain reaction develops. More and more, faster and even more bitter comes the flow, as he gives me room to let it all exit. Disgusting. numerous pills, undissolved and coated in my own liquid, float together in that little mess on the ground.

All of them. Seven or eight little white death beads from my stomach, pooling on the ground. The vomit stops and I just gasp for the air that has denied me before.

"Are those all of them?!" He asks with panic in his tone, and gestures toward the pills.

I nod weakly.

"Are they?"

"Yes." I groan. "All... of them."

He roughly grabs me by my shoulders, but I'm too weak for this. I can't... And those eyes... He just kills me with them, he gapes so widely into me. He begins to shake me.

"HOW THE HELL COULD YOU DO THIS, ARE YOU FUCKING STUPID?"

I don't answer. I just shiver with guilt, and fear. This isn't what I wanted... I never wanted to make you feel this way.

"HOW COULD- Why would you do this to me? Why?! What did you..." He breathes heavily. "Did you just expect me to walk in here and find you? DEAD? How could you expect me to do that?"

I can't even answer. I'm just so sorry, but I still don't even want to be here. I could be gone right now... I could be-

"Well? WELL?"

He shakes me once more by my pained shoulder, and I just fall to pieces. Fuck this, I hate this, I hate crying, but I do it so damn often. My eyes bleed the water that reflects everything from the last twelve years, and I begin to choke back my light sobs. I can't do this... I can't... I want to go home, wherever home is... I don't want to be here.

This shuts him up, my crying. He watches me with sorrow, and the anger in him hides. His harsh hands remove themselves from me, and I collapse to his shoulder. I weep into his shoulder, and my sobs fill the silent room. My crying is ugly. I'm so ugly. All of me. Everything here is ugly.

All except for he, who takes this chance and holds me so tight. His arms wrap me like the storm wraps the spring, and he pulls me in closer than I've ever been to him. We quietly leave the world, so it's only us. We who remain here, but anywhere but here. I choke my muffled cries into his shoulder as he gently rubs my back.

"I'm sorry." I choke through growing sobs. "I'm sorry, I just hate... I hate _everything_, I'm so _sorry_."

"Shhh..." His hush voice rocks me closer and closer back to normality. "Shhh... don't be sorry. This... this is all my fault."

"No it's not. I'm going f-fucking insane... I don't know wh-whats happening..."

"Shh... Stuart, calm down now. Everything is going to be okay. I promise. Stay with me now..." His balance helps, but it is nothing. This is what my life has amounted to. Sobbing in the accepting arms of my best friend.

I'm just a shoestring in his strong arms. I can barely even hold myself up. I'm such a damn mess of everything... I'm just this phsycotically-depressed crazy suicidal maniac. I used to be so normal... I used to be so strong... What am I? What the hell am I?"

"Whats wrong with me?" I whimper into his chest.

A gentle hand softly strokes the top of my wet hair. It's hard to believe only a few minutes ago I was taking a normal shower.

"Nothing at all." He whispers. "You're just... All your leaves have fallen off, I guess. It happens to all of us from time to time. It takes time, but you just have to wait for them to grow back. They will. I promise you, _everything _will be okay... I promise."

"No they won't." My creaky voice whispers. "I'm a fucking psycho, I might as well die. Why didn't you just let me die?"

He only rocks me softer, and holds me tighter.

"We're all a bit psycho. The difference is, you choose to let it out, and in some cases, that's a good thing... And why the hell would I let you die? Why would I do that? You're... all I've got, mate... I don't... If I wouldn't have found you here... I don't know what I would have done."

I gently get better. The crying slows, though it's still here. Minutes pass and die, and he stays. I remain just the air in his grasp, a dirty feather, a broken bird. We let the storm pass, as it still though stays very much alive inside the both of us, but besides my snivelling, and his calm utterings and hushings.

He's about to say something, but he sighs it away and changes his mind. "It's been hard, hasn't it?"

"... Yeah... It has been." I huff softly. He's so warm. So hard and so cold and so tough, but so warm.

"Stuart listen..." He starts quietly. "Don't be trying to do anything else like this. You have to promise me..."

"Murdoc, I don't want to _be _here." My lips tremble as I speak. "I don't... I don't wanna' be anywhere..."

No stop, Just... Listen to me..." He quietly scolds. "I...I _love_ you, okay?... And I just... I can't watch another person slip from me because they just have to go and leave me here on this stupid earth..."

"I love you too, Murdoc." I snuffle with a light form of happiness in my voice.

"Good... But you have to promise me."

I can't... I can't do it. I need to leave, I need to leave everything here.

"I can't... What if... What if-"

"Promise me." He begs through whispers. "Please..."

"I promise." I give into him weakly, and as I do he just draws me in closer, and I'm forced to give half of a smile. "Just don't-... I can't take any more fighting, okay? I can't do it. I can't..."

"I know." He speaks like the rain, soft and I sleep like the ocean. We are dirty, disgusting, dismantled nature and we will never have it have it any other way. "I know... We'll try. I promise you, we'll try."

We'll try. We have to try. Trying is all we can do anymore, to make things okay. But things will never really be fully okay for anyone, it's sad and it sucks, but it's so damn true. It's all in how you make things, how you talk, how you sleep...

We can talk like psychos, and we can sleep like them too.

Or you can talk like the rain, and sleep like the ocean. Whatever that may mean.

**AN: Well, thanks for reading! So what did you think? Still more to do, so do stay tuned :) And thanks again for sticking it out so long, you guys! **

**Thanks!**


	48. 48:My Medicine

**Chapter 48: My Medicine**

It looks so frail, the sky. So paper thin and breakable, just a prick away from bursting. But it tries so hard not to break, even when breaking is so much easier than staying around. I wonder what's really behind the sky. What might fall to us if it decides to break. Murdoc, who's just now decided to falter my tricky vision with pinched fingers, is given this question.

"What if the sky up there breaks?" I ask as he forcefully opens my eyes from the sleep that I'm stolen from.

"That's the ceiling, Stu." He answers patiently, while examining my peeled eyes. "We haven't moved from the bathroom."

"Oh. Well than, what if that breaks?"

Without bothering to take his hands away from my eyelids, he shrugs. "It wont. Don't spend too much time waiting on what isn't going to happen. How are you feeling?"

"My throat hurts." I generously reply to his off course change of topic. "Thank-you for that."

"It was for good reasoning, digging my hand down your throat. This- _close your eyes for thirty seconds_- would be yet another reason you owe me your soul."

His mid sentence request is followed through with the snap of my eyes shut. Though he probably hasn't any idea what he's doing, even through my foggy brained state, I know exactly what this is for. Checking for pupil dilation. He studies my eyes hard for a moment, and I'm just waiting for him to catch on.

"Umm... Murdoc?"

"Hold on, I'm concentrating."

"Good luck finding my pupils." My deadpanning leaves his face to droop. I should laugh. Laughing is a normal human reaction to funny things and situations, so I should laugh. But I don't because It feels utterly impossible.

With a sigh, he puts away his doctors gloves. metaphorically. "Well, let's settle it like this, do you feel like you're going to keel over onto your side and let your intestines boil and shrivel and melt inside of you?"

"Ew, no." I grimace at the oh so beautiful picture he's just painted in my head. "Just a headache, and the throat soarness. A little dizzy, but my gut isn't going to melt or whatever you said."

"Great. _Physically_, you're okay."

The emphasis on the word _physically _jumps out of his sentence. He settles himself close to me on the cold tiles, straying away from a mass of broken mirror and stomach acid. Inviting himself to be comfortable.

Tracing the tile patterns on the floor with my cold toes, I speak up. "Physically?"

"Well..." He drums his fingers to his sharply angled knees. "How are... _you_? And I mean, how are you _actually_?"

The question suffocates in the time I'm given to answer it. But I breathe out, and my brain pushes for the answer I already know. _How am I?_

"Everything hurts." The words leave my mouth. They feel so distorted, and jagged. Unfit.

"No, not physically. I mean like, mentally, how are you?"

I shake my head quietly, and I shake it to only my feet because I can't face him.

"...Everything hurts" I repeat in the tongue of a man who will not cry anymore, but gives every sign that he will. Everything hurts. Alls he does is give a subtle _oh, _and I don't reply, but leave us to sulk the way we do. The way _I_ do.

"... Can I ask you why?"

I could ask _why what,_ but I don't, because I know just _exactly_ what he's asking. Why I want to die.

As for the answer, I'd be lying if I said I didn't know, but I'd also be lying if I said I did. So chew my bottom lip real hard, like if I do, maybe I'll bleed an answer. The stale air in my chest escapes in a quivering sigh, and I turn to him with lifeless eyes.

"Have you ever... Just woken up one day, and... and thought about how shitty everything was? Thought about how shitty _you _were? I mean, not _you, but..."_

"I know, I know... Anyone."

"Yeah..." I subtly nod, and carry on. "But you just... you wake up, and you have this realization, this terrible thought that- that- everything... Everything is fucked. And you think _Oh hey, someday I'll die, and it'll all be over, so no worries._ So you swallow the pain, and you move on with your day, even though it's still there, and it _still _hurts..."

My track breaks. My voice stops. My lips shiver.

"Than one day you wake up, and you're broken." I tremble with a fear of my own words. "Your batteries are dead. Your circuits are pulled. You just... you can't go on. You get that same thought, that _someday I'll die, it will be okay _thought, except this time, you think... _Why not today?_"

My hands shake, but they're warm. They're _very_ warm. I hadn't noticed before, but our fingers have found each other through the invisible smoke, and they're carefully intertwined and tangled in their own way.

"Today was one of those days." I mumble. "Only I thought this would be the last one."

"Those thoughts aren't meant for people like you." He quietly twiddles the tips of my fingers.

"People like me?" I wait for explanation.

"Innocent people. Empty headed friendly people who are supposed to be happy. People like you."

"I'm not good." I shake this heavy head. "I might seem like one of those good people, but I'm not. Look at me here, I mean _jesus_... I'm a drug abuser, I haven't called my mother since I hinted her that I was going to fucking _off_ myself, I haven't a clue about my sexuality, and I wake up everyday with more reasons falling under the category of why I want to die. Real star citizen here."

"Tuss, stop this." His voice hints weak frustration as he shakes his head. "If quality was judged on screwups, I'd be one flaming factory mishap, which i already am, but you're not, and I _know_ you're not... You're a sweet boy, and you've fallen a few times along the way. You need to stay here, the world needs you, _I _need you."

I shake away the bitterness of the tears that threaten to escape.

"I don't want to be here." I whine through the tears I forcefully keep. "Nothing matters anymore, I don't care, I just need to go away..."

"I love you."

"Okay, but-"

"No." He shakes his head, and now we're facing each other. "I don't think you're taking that word seriously enough. I don't just throw that around, and I mean it, I don't know what the hell you've done to me, but damn it, I love you."

"I'm sorry..." My breath shakes.

"No, don't be sorry for that. Don't be sorry for anything except the fact that if you take yourself away, I'll _nobody_ else in the world, and it scares me, it fucking scares me that I even care about you, but I do, bloody hell I do, I care so much that it scares me."

I can feel him shake through the finger that still connects to me through mine. I can't move, in fear that I might ruin something. But I speak. And maybe my speaking might ruin something, but I run the risk, and I run it miles long.

_Show me. Show me you care, take me, let us be us, and we'll still be raunchy manly men, we'll watch sports and we'll drink port ale, and we'll smoke and we'll talk and maybe we'll fight, but we'll do it all together, and that will make me the happiest psycho in the world_

But I don't speak. I want to, so bad. But I fall over my words, and all that escapes are a few stutters, and I'm a failure. And when I don't talk, he does.

"I should clean up in here." He covers my stutters and stands to be taller than me. But he looks down with loving in his eyes. "But listen, you should go down and get something to eat. It's got to have been days since you've last eaten. There isn't much, I know, but the next food shipment should be coming in any day now, so take what you want." And he talks so casually. Like the way _only friends _talk.

"Alright." I agree hollowly.

"Than uh... do go and get some rest. You've just woken up, I know, but these things take time to heal, and sleep helps a hell of a lot better than mowing about an obese hunk of plastic. I'll be up in a few hours or so to check on you."

"Kay."

He stays as I leave, and I wish we could both just stay or leave somewhere. But he's right, and I'm not to argue with him. The door closes, and all too soon parts me from the man who's saved my life in many a way. I wonder if he _is_ cleaning, or maybe he's doing something mysterious that I'll never know, because the mysterious people and the normal people live in separate worlds that sometimes collide on some occasions, but not nearly enough. Not in the slightest bit enough.  
_/

In the near distance, hums the roar of the open sea. It chimes with the caw of plastic sick seagulls, who look ever so hard for a scrap of something actually edible to eat, on this little chunk of false paradise. But the ocean sloshes and audibly glistens, and this is, I think, the most beautiful thing I will ever hear.

It's too soft here, where I am. It's not my cot in that little metal death trap below the sea, and it doesn't smell like stale beef jerky and jergens body lotion like my sheets do, which is a really disgusting smell. Here, it smells like cheap body spray, and cheaper alcohol, and expensive incense, which adds something lovely to that mix. It also smells of sweat, which could very well be my own. I'm swallowed by these heavy silk rivers that bear a rich scent, and all I do is let them swallow me even deeper because It's so comfortable here.

"You are awake, yes? Thank you. No."

I'm thankfully still alive, though I think I've suffered a minor heart attack due to the sugary voice that's jumped at my ears with it's metalic ring.

As I jolt from my half-sleep, the room fades into view: A night shaded hole of a room with furnishings that I'm just able to make out. It'd be completely dark in here if it weren't interrupted by a pair of glowing lemon peepers in the night.

I dig out my dusty bravery, and gulp. "Noodle- I mean, robot... thing? Is that you?"

"Thank you. Yes. *BZZT* That's what you missed on, _glee_!"

Glee? What? Uhm...Yeah uh, wow, Murdoc really needs to fix you.

"Are you... okay?" I speak to the thing like it's _actually_ noodle. Speaking to it as any less would surely be some form of dishonor.

"Oh-kay? I am in a suitable state *BBBBZRAR* I'm sorry, I must have mistaken you for a unicorn."

And she makes these weird little centipede-wrenching like movements with her body when she bugs out... It's creeping me out severely. I twiddle my thumbs and move farther backward as she watches me with those fuzzy yellow lights that eat the darkness.

I hunch up from my lay down position, and get to careful questioning."Right... uh... If you don't mind me asking, why are you here? And where am I?"

"Your current position is the captains quarters. My orders were to escort you to a more comfortable sleeping arrangement, so naturally, I knocked you out and pulled you up here- *WZZRRBT* GRAHAM COXON WEARS PINK LACEY KNICKERS."

"...Right... Uhmm... What time is it?" On the edge of my bravery, I wait for her next answer, and pray in only slight worry that she doesn't decide to blow the hell up and rip my neck from my body.

"3:45 A.M" She bleeps.

"3:45 A.M? I've been asleep for that long?"

"I took the initiative to make your rest more pleasant by nourishing your air with sleeping gas. *WAZRURRBZTTT* Wait, maybe you are a unicorn. The readings you are giving off are very strange."

And I'm honestly ready to hide under the covers and wait this out like a bad storm, when the door rickets open and sends Murdoc in to the rescue.

An eyebrow raises on his half lit face as he makes his entrance. "Cyborg?"

"Hello Master. *BBZZZNNBBTRRT*CHANDLER, MONICA AND JOEY GOT LOST AT THE AIRPORT, WHAT DO WE DO?"

The look on his face is one I wish I could keep forever. He stares at her with this priceless look of confusion, and I might have the same one if I wasn't so scared that the robot would hit me or something else scary.

"Cyborg, go charge now, fuck." He groans with a single hand to his forehead.

She ups herself in a glitchy motion, and starts out the doorway. "Cyborg going to charge now, fuck."

The door closes, and I assume she's trotting off down the hallway chanting wierd things. A light switch is flipped, and the room is footprinted in yellow light, that differs a bit from the glow of the cyborgs eyes.

Murdoc catches my wake, and swings the black bag I've now noticed he's carrying, to his other shoulder. "Oh, you're awake. Sorry about that. That damned thing is broken, and she keeps picking up american television signals."

"Where were you for like- fifteen hours?" I feel bad about it, but quickly spring a question.

"I was umm..." He eyes that black bag quite closely, before seemingly giving up on it and taking a shy spot at the end of the bed.

"Did you get something to eat?" His worries flatter me.

"Uhuh."

"Good than. You uh... feeling alright?"

"Still alive." I shrug and push to him a truthful response, but it doesn't seem to get his ticket. He gives half a smile that hides a broken frown, and I can see right through him. There's anguish behind the layers of strength. Anguish for the pain and trouble I've been pushing it through, but he's so good at hiding it, and painting everything over with _We're okay. _And I'm sorry again.

"I'm sorry." I give him a weak groan sigh, and he only tips it away.

"Will you stop being so sorry? It's fine."

The mood swings rocket up. I've always known this was a factor in overdose and depression, but I'd never thought it could happen as often as it does. My mood rots to from yellow to blued black, and the vibe that might have been okay before, seems to render me sick.

"It's not." I murmur. "Would you look at me? God _damnit, _I'm acting like a fucking teenage girl, this isn't... I can't... Shit, I'm getting like this again, I'm sorry.

"It's okay." His voice is again, like the rain. Soft and hard, and everything I need to be slightly okay.

"I know, I know..." I rub my tired eyes. "But just how the hell do I even live like this? I'm making it hell for myself, and..."

"This might help." The dirty mood stays unbroken as he drags up that bag he's been eyeing, and he pushes it over to my lap. I examine the shapeless black fabric that stays wet in some spots, and almost dry in others.

"What is it?"

"Nothing much, just go ahead and see."

He keeps awkwardly shifting and looking around, while trying to keep control of his manly charm. The bag is wet, but I waste no time peeling it away from the mystery it keeps.

As it's revealed, something in my chest hurts. Something large, just about as large as the severely water damaged geisha box that I hold in my trembling fingers. The little painted birds have faded even more, but they're there. The wood has gone spongy, and pickable, but it's there. It's all so damaged, but it's there. It's here. It's _really _here.

I can only shake. I can only shake and quiver and be grateful, and think about how wonderful he is.

"How did you get this?" My lips move lightly and carefully to give words that are barely heard.

"I've got a submarine devision, no big deal." He swells with modesty, and I'm just unsure what to do.

Because it _is_ a big deal. He's spend literal hours out in the middle of the fucking _ocean_ for me. All for me. All at once I'm guilty, and lovestruck, and headsick, and I don't know what to do.

"You did this... for me?"

"I mean, I guess it was for me too." He sighs and scratches at his head. "Since I didn't like seeing you upset, and all. I thought eh, maybe it'd bring a little bit of cheer... I'm gonna go uhmm... fix the cyborg."

He doesn't leave when he tries to, because my arms won't let him. I've dropped the box gently to my lap, and I wrap my arms around his neck, and I rest my chin on his shoulder where I want to be for the rest of my life. I feel him gently exhale, and pat my back with his nervous hand. Maybe he's scared. I'm scared to. We can't afford not to be, these days.

"Thank you." I murmur inches away from his ear. I feel like maybe he's smiling slightly. I can't see, but I hope he is. "Thank you _so much_."

"I've gotten this for you on one condition.." He starts slowly, and I listen with every intention of sinking into him. "Stay in the world, okay? Stay until you're pried away from it, and until then, stay."

"I will." I smile faintly under the scent of his musky skin, and we stay. He stays. I stay. Ashes to ashes, we may fall down someday, but for now we stay.

And maybe in the near future, I will fall to, but I'll pick myself up because I've promised it to the man who's threw away nearly half of his life to deal with me. I'd like to imagine that maybe he likes it as much as I do, but I seriously doubt it, like I seriously doubt that we'll never fight again. Like I seriously doubt that the rest of this time will be smooth sailing.

I do however not doubt, that maybe I've found my cure. Because being here in his warmth gives off this tiny little half of a spark of happiness, and it's the only that I've felt all day. So maybe he's my cure.

Or maybe he's my disease, but if that is true, than maybe that's the way I should die.

But maybe he's my medicine. Maybe he's my medicine, when he's close to me.

**AN: Thank you all so much :) So what did ya' think? Go on, tell me what you've thought! And thanks again for being so cool and supporting me :D**


	49. 49:Suck It

**Chapter 49: Suck it**

**BTW: Tumblr. Yuss. New account. Just Anonymicious there too, so hit me up! :D**

**AN: Hey guys! So I have been getting a few asks for a Murdoc POV, and because I really do love you guys, I **_**will**_** do one soon, though I planned to keep the whole story through 2D's eyes, but if you want it, you want it :) Thanks for reading!**

I watch the dying days roll into dead nights that lack that spark that tells me everything will be okay in the end. There is always him, and there always will be, and he certainly is somewhat of a spark to my circuitry, but he's that spark that dares not burn deep enough, and I can't for the life of me figure out why.

I like the pixies. This is a random note on the bulletin board that is my brain, but I like the pixies, and I like the piano, and things that I like soften the blow from the rest of the things that bite at me. _Where is my mind _has always been a good one for the ivories. I'd learned it a few years before Murdoc knocked that car into my skull, so maybe I don't remember it, but maybe I do. This keyboard is cornered with rust and dirt, and it's got the sound out of an elephant with meningitis, plus to top it off, it's a Yamaha, and I prefer Casio. Not one to be picky though, the tips of my fingers softly hello the keys like old friends do, and everything comes easily from there.

_With your feet on the edge and your head on the ground_

_Try this trick spin it_

_Your head will collapse, and there's nothing you can do, and you'll ask yourself_

_Where is my mind?_

It goes slow, and so does my memory of any of the lyrics to this song. Everything seems slow lately. Like I can't even process basic thoughts without breaking down one way or another. It helps though, when you've got good music to play, and the dark silhouette of a chopstick-limbed man leans in the doorway to keep you going.

"Hi." No _uh_ or _um_, I greet him casually, like it's not just a bit creepy that he's watching me from the doorway.

The bare chest that glistens with heat, is that of Murdoc. A hand to his chin, and his back to the doorway, he has something like interest in his eyes. "The fairies, is it? What you're playing?"

"_Pixies_."

"Huhmph." He nods quickly. "No such difference. Late eighties indie is all the same... You've uh... You're music...It's... Still good."

"Oh. Thanks."

We've rotted into socially awkward teenagers from grown men. Great.

"Uhuh." He doesn't hint any awkwardness though. Just keeps that edgy _James Dean, only twelve times raunchier_ type look, as he lights a white stub and breathes in his peace, only to dampen the air with the scent of his signature brand.

Unsure what to do, I just sort of look at him. Do I... say hi again? I mean he's just standing there... So I dip my head back towards the keys, and I start up again. "

"The cellophane fakeness of the keyboard is cool, but alot of times I miss the real thing, pianos, you know?" I speak casually, but don't lift my head from the keys.

"That sound they make..." I add nostalgically. "With pieces like this it sounds a whole lot daintier, and sort of stronger, you know? Like only a classic can produce."

"Well, you're the piano man. I'm just going to pretend I understood half of the terms you just used, and go on." He puffs out with his words, and invites himself to the farthest place away from me on the piano bench, but he's still close. What he's doing, I'm unsure, but maybe it's good.

"How are you doing?" He asks them. The preset words, the every morning phrase. The daily check up.

"Okay, right now. Just a little slow."

"You sure?"

"Mhm." His worries are kind of flattering, but they make me feel bad. Guilty, rather than upset. Just the fact that I'm even more of a responsibility to tango with. I prick up slight politeness, and return the question.

"And how are you?"

"Fucking starved." He mumbles through his stub occupied lips. "The food shipment's been delayed until later tonight. In fact, I tried to order take out and so the guy asks me where I live... Told him I don't have an address, he says maybe he can navigate, he asks what do I live by..."

"What'd you tell him?"

He shrugs. "Told him: You know that _grocerybox _grocery store around the corner from your store? About four hundred thousand miles to the left of that. The tosser hung up on me."

"Well did you really expect him to bring it out here, Murdoc?" I chuckle at his expenses, and what I'm paid in return is a teasing lunge to the shoulder. Not the pained one, and I think he knows this. I grin softly and carry the music on home with the last few notes that fade off into the ground but ring in my ears as they leave.

Why he's still here though, stays unknown. I just wait for a word or a sign or anything, nut all he does is dip smoke from his lips into the air, and trace the wall with his eyes like there's something so interesting about it that I'll never see. Maybe there are so many things from the eyes of Murdoc that I'll never see. I wonder what they are.

The smoke slips back between his lips, and out again till like natural magic it disappears into the air, and I just let myself enjoy watching the man live.

"You look ill." The corners of his mouth crinkle as he catches my gaze and raises an eyebrow in perhaps disapproval.

"How so? I don't feel ill."

"Dunno. You're all pale and baggy eyed, I guess."

"I'm always pale and baggy eyed." I retort with a slight grumble that he pays no mind to.

"Well yeah, okay, we both agree you can be quite horrendous, but uh..."

It's a joke. He pokes at my horrific features once in a while, and I don't much mind it. But.. uh? What's that mean?

"But what?"

With an impatient sigh, he lets go sort of nervously. "Alright, maybe I'm hearing things, or going completely off my rocker, but the other day, didn't you say you hadn't called your mother since you'd tried to off yourself?"

I gently scratch the back of my head and flip my gaze around the room. "Jeez, uh... Touchy subject there."

"C'mon, It's not that touchy, I scrubbed your stomach acid from the floor tiles and coaxed you away from death itself, now did you or did you not?"

"Okay, okay... I guess I did. Lay off alright?" My nerves, being so completely on the edge, tip a little bit downward, and my voice falls into a quieter tone.

"... I'm the only one that has a phone on plastic beach..." He speaks suspiciously, and at first my head nearly accuses him as being possessive over the idea of being the only one that has a phone... And than a second dies, and I get it. He gets it. He knows.

His dirty eyes dig into me for truth. They dig. Those eyes. Yellow, white, red. Those eyes.

"So... This has happened before?" The eyes talk, but it's actually his mouth talking. All I see is the shame that reflects me in his eyes. I look away from them, to the piano keys that don't judge. Pretend to care about them more than I care about this situation.

"So... maybe it has. I don't want to talk about it." Those could have been the last words of that book, but they weren't. Lies. They never could have been the last words. He always has to bother it again.

"Wha-... When? Why didn't you tell me, what the hell?" He thinks he can crack me again, with that growing anger and scold in his voice. He thinks he can crack me wide open. Let my shell break, and watch the imperfection spill out of me. He thinks he can. He's right.

"Please let this go." I protest weakly.

"No, You're going to _tell_ me exactly when the fuck you thought it'd be alright to end your life the first time."

Crack. I'm too weak for anger. Too tired, too burnt out. So I quietly spill.

"It was before you got your thing, or man, or whatever that thing was to smoke me out, okay? It umm... I was... I was going to, but I got knocked out or whatever, and missed my chance." The later words spoken are just a blur of mumble-words.

"And I thought... Cou-... Couldn't we just drop this?" Yet I add more, as I direct my shamed eyes only to the piano keys. "I already feel like shit, and you _know_ I already feel like shit, and I thought this could just be over... We could just move on, alright? No more questioning, I'm fucked up in the head, and we both know it, so leave it alone."

There was no need for what I've created here. Only a few moments ago the conversation was normal. Talking. Laughing, even if mine may have been fake. Now the air reeks of sorrow, and forced self pity. My fault again.

He cradles his forehead in his hands like a sick baby, and shakes his chin at the ground.

"Lovely day here. A broken piece of human machinery that thinks she's from an american sitcom, a dire food shortage and a sad little boy. Wonderful."

"Look, I never asked for you to baby me, okay?" My patience snaps, and so do I. "You don't need to monitor my actions every blithering second of the day, and than complain about it."

"Simmer down Slim, it's barely even breakfast."

"Simmer down, I'll simmer you down." I mumble as my mood shifts once again, and I'm annoyed. I set of out of the chair and fume away.

"Well where are _you_ going?"

"I dunno'. To shower or something, my head hurts, and I'm stressed out beyond belief, I just need a minute, okay?"

"C'mon Sally, prom wasn't that horrifying." He pokes at the drama that I secrete. I only cross my arms and continue on my way out, when as soon as I do, I find it quite hard to. You know, moving ain't quite so easy when you've got a hand clenched onto the back of your shirt collar.

"Murdoc, I'm not playing around. Let go of me, I can't do this right now."

"Can't do what?" His voice teases, as he spins me round' by the shirt collar to face him. I struggle in his grasp.

"Can't... fool around, or whatever, I'm not-"

"Who said we were fooling around?" He thinks this is funny. He thinks this is real damn funny, but it's not, and he's only steaming me hotter. And not in the good way either.

"It doesn't matter who said what!" My anger sputters into his face. "What matters is that you're seriously pushing some barriers right now, and I've got a good knee-to-crotch distance right now-"

"2D-"

I interrupt him and only struggle harder and harder, more childishly and ridiculously.

"No, you be quiet. I'm not screwing around, I'm about to get really fucking pissed, and-"

"Stuart. Shut up."

"And don't think I won't lunge an attack or something, cause I will, and if you think for one SECOND that-"

"Tuss. You're over talking."

"AND-"

"Stuart."

"WHAT?" And I'm done. Lit. Busted out. "WHAT IN HOLY HELL COULD YOU POSSIBLY HAVE TO SAY?"

"Shut up."

_Kiss._ Just like that, a blink, a second, somewhere a rocket ship takes off, and we're somehow kissing, because his own bossy lips decided to control the rest of this conversation and barge there way into mine, which refuse to accept, because did I forget to mention I'm seriously pissed?

Cause I am. These lips. They're so soft, and so dry, and so everything, but I'm also angry. So I push, and I push, and I worm my way outward from his grasp. Nothing. He's still holding. Harder. I push back with everything, and I'm free.

"No. NO _no no no no _no." I grow stronger with my protesting. "You can't just... No, alright? I'm not in the mood, you're screwing with my mood something fierce right now, and-"

Face. Hands. He takes my chin as his prize and lifts my eyes to him. That gaze. I nearly fall backward over the keyboard, but only lean back against it as he leans into me.

"Just let yourself be happy for once."

Theres this feindish smile there, that he gives me. This sexy, amused, fiendish wrinkle of the skin that wraps his jaw line. I fall victim. He toys with my fingers, and he pushes me farther back... Again, I crack. Victim to him. And we're near to kissing again, too. The lips make way for each other through the thin air, and we're so close... Inches... Centimeters... Skin.

***SPWALAWASH***

Um, is spwalawash a word? Because that's what I've just heard. Just almost like this humongous crash of ocean to the shore, or something like that. At once and together, our heads flip from each other to the open window, though we stay in each others heat for a moment. The moment passes, and we rush to said open window like the events from a few seconds ago have never happened.

What we see definitely exists, though I don't believe it at first, and it should be believable, but the fact that an entirely different submarine from Murdoc's, would just float up and keel over on land like a beached sea animal. Because that's what we see.

"Who the hell?" Murdoc murmurs, and I can't blame his shock. I'm shocked too.

"Did he just... crash it onto shore?"

He doesn't answer me, but instead develops his own wonderings. "It couldn't be any of the collaborators I'd talked to. They're all in different subs, and they all know how to operate marine machinery. This bloke's just crashed his into the beach. Did you contact anyone?"

With immediate discomforting blame, he flips to me. And I am of course, immediately discomforted, because I actually _did_ happen to contact someone quite a bit ago... For, rescue to be exact.

"Huh." I give him no such answer. "Lets uh... go check it out."

So The crasher calls, and we find the shore. It is of course, who I'd expected, and I'd knew it from the moment that a patch of auburn brown hair poked out of the battered hatch.

"Oh uh... Gareth. You're here."

Gareth, would be Gareth Daley, or as the most of the world knows him, Daley. In utter hatred of everything to do with plastic beach, I'd contacted him a while ago in hopes of rescue, which ends up coming at a bad time... A really bad time.

So I turn to Murdoc for the fun of it. The shock is quite entertaining. That of watching a stranger, but _not _a stranger, appear perfectly un announced on his beach. And crashing, too.

The fun part will be explaining to poor Gareth that I don't actually want to leave now. Not that the choice is in my hands anyways...

_/

Though the morning sky looks thin and papery, the moon looks strong and hard, but so far away. Through the kitchen window, or pantry room window, or whatever this room turns out to be, I watch it with a wistful feeling. One that I'm not even so sure where it's came from. But it's here, and it upsets me for no reason other than the fact that I'm most likely clinically psychotic. The mood wilts again.

Murdoc makes his way into the scene as I twiddle my fingers under a ratty paisley table cloth that drapes this round dining table. Maybe he senses these sort of things. I've a feeling he does.

"Where's Gareth?" I ask in hopes that he actually has an answer.

"Gave him your room until the collaboration's finished."

Murdoc, being the con artist he is, has talked Daly out of any anger from traveling all the way down here for nothing. A collaboration was his prize, and he accepted.

"Where do I go?"

"Wherever you fit. The fridge, maybe."

He's funny, sure. He's got that light of comedy in him that not a lot of people have, I'll give him that. Somewhere, some other time I would laugh, but I think I'm broken. I can't even jerk half of a smile onto my stupid face.

"Chin up, kid." He cheers slightly. "There are better things to do than mope about, go play with a ball or something."

"What d'you think I am, a golden retriever..." I snap. I'm sour, I'm bitter. I'm everything in those people that you don't want to talk to at the super market. I'm just... not me.

"C'mon. What's up?" He pulls up his own chair and invites himself into the circle of my trust. Like he doesn't already know whats up...

"Whats up? I don't even fucking know, Im stressed over nothing." I complain. Bitch. Whine. "I can't even function like this, and I don't even know what's wrong with me."

"You know what's always good for stress?"

"What?"

"Licking my balls." In the later hours, his humor suffers from some sort of poisoning and gets even sicker than it already is, even though this isn't even that bad. I roll the eyes in my skull and sigh.

"You know what, I'm not in the mood for your shit, just prance off and leave me alone."

"Alright. _That's it_." His chair is thrown back, and he snaps into business. The tone is angry, the features are fierce. I've just fucked up, I knew I shouldn't have gotten as far as to tell him what to do.

I can't even talk, and I don't know why. Maybe I'm that scared. But I shouldn't be, because all he's doing is submitting to his knees, and tunneling under that long tablecloth. What, is he gonna' like, bite my feet or something?

"Uhh... And you're doing what?" I ask with growing curiosity.

"Taking this fucking stress away once and for all. Now where's your belt buckle, it's dark under here."

Belt buckle? I... What is he- _Oh. Oh. Oh _is right. I actually get this now, as is the last few seconds was something I've never understood my whole life, and I've only just now learned it. My first headjob from Murdoc.

"Uhmm... that's okay." I fight nervously. "I'm fine really. No stress here."

"Be quiet, I'm concentrating, Ah- Here we are. The control center." With that, he's found his destination, and the buckle slips against my will. The zipper. This is quick, and he just slides it right down, along with the jeans they belong to. To my ankles.

Pause. Maybe I wouldn't fight against this, if it weren't for the fact that I've seen Murdoc's set of chompers before, and they've sure cut my tongue up before. So why not my dick? Why not tear this to shreds? Unpause.

"Really, this is unneccessary. I'm fine, Muds. All good here!" The sweat rolls away with my excuses, and he just ignores.

"No, this is everything but unneccessary, seeing as how you've been breaking down in every way imaginable for the past four days, and personally, I'm putting a stop to it."

"But... I'm not even hard yet." That sounds funny, coming out of me so weak and soft and complaining, considering the sentence it is. I fiddle with my fingers out of nervous habbit as he works my drawers down to my ankles, and the reality of the cold air hits my groin.

"You will be. Give me a moment."

So I give him his requested moment, and of course he works his signature magic. I don't know what it is. The heavy petting, the hardcore tickling (which is a lot more sexual than it sounds) or any of his other little tricks, but it works, and while I'm stiffer than my fingers are limp, I'm still unsure about this.

Again, not my choice, and the stiffness in my penis just rizes itself up without any of my damned permission, and in it goes, face first into a warm cave of wet mystery and really sharp rocks, which would be his teeth.

All is quiet, except for the shadow soundings of the night waves, and my profuse whines of stingpain and half pleasure. And I say half pleasure, because his teeth are like little miniature piranhas, like thirty something of them, just attacking and biting, and doing everything they can to make this suck for me.

He tries though, and if it weren't for the teeth, he'd be good. Real good. His mouth, like some sort of vacuum, or vortex, just swirling and suckling in these little patterns as he gently holds the base of my shaft with his warm fingers. And maybe just the idea that he really wants to help. That he'd be willing to give up a bit of dominance just for me... That's sweet enough.

And it'd be better though, if my heart didn't escape my chest when the kitchen door quietly rickets open to give us a tired looking curly head man, with bags under his eyes to match mine. Daley.

The table cloth keeps Murdoc hidden, but not my mouth, which has dropped open to about half of its size already.

_/

**REVIEWER VOTE:**

**Should 2D:**

**A: Panic**

**or**

**B: Play it cool, and try to keep coy.**

**AN: Thanks for reading! What did ya' think? Do vote if you can, and thanks so much guys!**


	50. 50: You, In the Eyes of the River

**Chapter 50: You, In The Eyes of The River**

Okay, now. Wake up.

Seriously mind, this isn't funny. Rise and shine.

Wake up. I'm dreaming. Just an erotic night vision with an embarrassing end, not real. Never real. Wake up. Dear lord, _wake_ the _fuck _up.

I'm awake. This isn't a dream, this was never a dream, this is perfect reality, and he's walking over here. Correction, he's slumping over here because he must be tired, because it's too late to be up, and it's too late to be receiving oral sex from underneath the table.

He gracefully flops into the chair across from me, and I start to lose it as he props his head up in his hands and stretches his mouth to yawn.

"Hey man-"

"Hey." I blurt, and the answer is too quick, and nervous. "What uh, what's up with you, what you doin' up so late?"

As his eyes grow narrow with suspicion, so does the pleasure in my down unders, and this is because Murdoc is a douche. Murdoc is a douche, and he'll do anything to piss me off or make me look like an idiot, so why not do this? Why not stretch his mouth open a little bit further, why not slide me down a little deeper into his throat, why not playfully toy his fingers around the skin on my nads? Why not? So of course, he does all of this. All I can do is sweat, clench my teeth, and hope to god nothing escapes my vocal chords.

"You uhm... You alright 2D? You're looking a little pink. And fidgety. Maybe you've got bird flu, those things out there are getting into me system, I swear."

"Fine." More blurting. "Good. Fine. I'm- I'm great. So whatchu' doin up, whatchu' doin down here?"

Another yawn floats away from Daley as Murdoc only sucks harder in both sexual and personality wise ways.

"I dunno', couldn't sleep. Think I dropped my glasses down here earlier, actually. May have kicked em' under the table. You seen them?"

"What? There's nothing under the table, why would you think there was something under the table?"

Murdoc hits my foot with an available hand. A warning. I'm not being relaxed enough I guess, but it's mostly his fault, cause' he won't tone it down, or you know, remove his mouth from stuart junior down there.

"I... I didn't say there was anything under the table... I only thought... my glasses might be there." Daley explains awkwardly. Almost like he's creeped out.

"Right." I cough as I twiddle my fingers. "But uh, they aren't. Don't worry, nothing ever goes under this table. Nothing smart, nothing practical. Nothing _of use."_

clench. I though that last part was funny, but Murdoc didn't. His teeth have made their own fun out of moving together slightly, in a still painful bite. Murdocs teeth are arrows. My cock is not made of rock. Yowch.

"FUH-..." And I nearly lose it through an intense streak of pain, but I don't. I just try to fix things as Daley raises an eyebrow at me.

"Funds." I correct. "I was... I was going to shout funds, cause' you know... Those pesky prices, and our budgets... Sometimes you just gotta' shout it out in anger, let it out. FUNDS! Heh heh. Yeah. Funds... Those... pesky... prices."

As I fade out so do the white parts of my face. I'm assuming I'm all red, now. Murdoc stops his presses and tries not to lose it as he holds back escaping laughter. Daley takes a break from thinking I'm weird, to notice the near laughing sounds Murdoc is making.

"D'you hear that?" He looks about.

"H- Ehem. Hear what? I don't hear anything."

"Like... breathing, or slurping or something. But it's almost like laughter, too. You don't hear it?"

"Nothing. Like it's so quiet in here that... that you could like, hear a carbon atom hit the floor, or something." Stupid, stupid, _stupid_! I'm not even sure what exactly a carbon atom is.

"A carbon atom? What?"

"Yeah no uhm, I dunno', maybe there are ghosts or something, maybe that's what you hear. I'll bet you Murdoc knows, maybe you should go ask him... upstairs. Because he's not down here, you know?"

Without taking his lips away from my manhood, Murdoc strikes again. Another blow of his fist to my foot. I'm not doing so hot up here.

"I uh... I'm alright. I think I'm just gonna' check the floor under this table for my glasses, and-"

"NO! NO- no no no... That's not necessary."

"Err... why not?"

"Because... Because..." Think think stupid brain. think. Come on put your simple cells together, something happen, just think! "Because let me get them for you... You know... Can't have guests digging about the floor right? It's un lady like, I mean, not very gentleman like of me..."

"Uh. Okay. Sure."

For a solid moment, I just look at him, and my eyes are rocks. Solid stone, no flickering, no moving. I just peer at him, because how the hell am I to retrieve those glasses?"

Murdoc, if you can somehow ready my thoughts with your satanic voodoo, stop. Step away from the penis. Leave little Stu alone for now, you need to hand me the glasses so I can get Daley out of here before prematurely blow my frosting down your throat and make that noise. You know the one, you know that noise, and you know I can't not make it. It _will _happen, and damnit, he'll know. Can't you hear me? Step away. Pick up the glasses...

"Pick up the glasses." I grumble cough-words into my hands. "Pick up the fucking glasses."

He catches this just barely, and after a moment of awkward fumbling, the glasses are presented to my lap, and I make like I'm looking for them on the floor. Murdoc makes it no easier by going back three times harder, reuniting us, penis to mouth.

"Ah... hold on... there we go, here they are."

I slide them across the table, and he takes them. "Oh good. Thanks. So hows the album been coming along since before I've been here?"

Really. Oh really. I haven't weirded you out enough yet? You can't just nod at your glasses and get the hell back downstairs, Gareth? You have to stay and chat?

"It's been good." My toes curl into the palms of my feet as the bliss finally awakes in me, though it's been there for a good while. But I answered, maybe he'll go away now. He doesn't.

"Good... It's just too bad Noodle and Russ ain't here to help. When's the last time you saw either of them?"

"El Manana video shoo-oot." My words linger on the word shoot. Oh god. Oh no oh no fuck. This right here, is like my phase two of any sexual interaction with Murdoc. The noises. My little noises, those god damned noises, and they're about to start up.

"Video shoot... It's too bad... Where you spose' they are now?" God _damnit_ Gareth, shut up.

"Uhmm... For... Russ.. Brooklyn. His home town." Every word, every little word lingers and leaves off with half of a grunt. Because I'm trying. I'm trying so damn hard not to sqeak or moan, or any of it...

"As for... Noodle... We don't know. Somewhere... at se-_ea."_

There it goes. The start. The _ea _of sea. Except it wasn't se-ea, it was se-_eeeeeeah!_

"You sure you're alright? everything okay here? It sure doesn't look like it, I mean... You sound kind of sick."

I have to do it. It has to come out. Now. If I hold back, I'll start whining, and it'll be loud. Maybe I can be discrete... Maybe I can be quiet... Maybe If I try to let it go slowly, gently... I read this somewhere in playboy, I think... If I just relax... shift my groin... steady... Ready... one... two... three...

"...Ughhnnnn!" It escapes. Gone. Three seconds, and my white majesty is freed into Murdoc's mouth, and I bet he's mad because I didn't give him some kind of warning... But I can't really focus on that, because that little noise? It wasn't little. Not at all. It lingered, and it echoed, and I'm screwed.

"What's wrong? Uh... should I go?"

"Nothing, I screamed... It's uhmm... It's true! There _are_ ghosts here, and uh, there was one in the hallway, and he stuck his tongue out at me, and gave me a very rude hand gesture."

Did this fix it? Am I in the clear? Do I win?

"I think you need some sleep, buddy. I think I do too. I'll be off than. G'night. Careful with yourself, now." He moves from his chair and makes for the lift.

"Right. I'll be fine. Carefull of ghosts, or what not."

That dinger thingy dings at his exit, and I could swear he's just muttered something about insanity, but the silver doors slide us apart. In the clear.

It's so quiet. Maybe that's the reward, like the sign that we know we've won.

"Am I bleeding?" I breathe quietly. "Did those blades you call teeth damage any of my plumbing?"

"No, I seem to have left my dick cutting knife elsewhere." His voice lacks the nerve that mine's got. Now can I get out of here, or am I still sharing all of this with a listener?"

I release my tight stomach with a sigh of sweet relief, and finally let my muscles drop, as well as my guard. "No cuts? No blood, no scratches?"

"You're fine, Kiddo."

"Don't call me kiddo." I cringe. "That's creepy, and it makes you sound like a pedophile."

"Okay shut up now. Can I leave or what?"

"Okay. It's clear. You're good. "

"I am good, aren't I?" His pride beckons from beneath the table, before he crawls his way out, and still manages to keep an aura of dominance though he's feet below me. But he stands from his knees soon enough, and he wipes the remnants of my release from his chin and mouth. It's rather embarrassing, so I pretend to be enthralled with getting my pants back up.

"Carbon Atoms? Really?" So the teasing begins with his slightly warming laugh. Red of the face and quick to the embarrassment, I cross my arms and try not to laugh at my own stupidity.

"Yeah well you couldn't have done much better, so hush up."

"I'll tell you what, I could have at least done better than _funds_." He jabs at me with his laughter. "What was it again? Some days we just need to shout about finances? I about lost it."

"Yeah yeah, I'm an idiot, you win. Quiet your mouth, blud."

"Oh feisty are we?" He claims Daley's abbandoned seat and tosses me a fiery stare. "This the thanks I get? For reliving you of your _terrible _stress?"

"Releiving? I almost got caught getting my shaft chewed on."

"You're quite the grateful little bugger, aren't you?"

And I've pissed him off. He isn't showing it, but maybe I've hurt his feelings or something. I feel kind of bad, I mean that was nice...

"Okay, thank you, and what not." I give in, with more of an apology, really. "And that _was_ pretty nice."

"Yeah, I know it was." He gushes, and kicks back a bit in relaxation. "We were pretty close to getting caught, too. A little bit longer, and you would have started making your noises, and we all know that would have been quite a lovely show for dear ol' Gareth."

"No kidding. So... Spit or swallow?"

"Check the floor and see if I'm a pussy or not. I'm off to bed." He ends our little rendezvous with a tip of the imaginary hat, and slumps off to the lift.

"Wait a second, you handed my room over to Daley, where am I sposed' to go?"

"See if Dave'll let you cuddle him beneath the generator." He teases at me. He returns the roll of my eyes with a smirk that wrinkles one corner of his mouth. I think I like that corner of his mouth, right there. I think I like a lot about him.

"Murdoc." My words aren't angry, and they're not fussy. I don't know what they are.

"Stuart." He returns them, with the same mystery tone that he's borrowed from me.

And I don't know what our words are. Maybe they're just sex in two little names, maybe they're lust, and maybe they're laughter, or organic tofu, or sofa fabric, because they could be anything. But for my own sake, I'm going to say that our words are _I love you _but they're in our own language that consist only of two names that work together so perfectly, yet they're so ugly with each other all the same.

The quiet minute is over, and he ruffles with top of his head with a spidery hand, and he sighs.

"You cheeky fucker, I'm going to regret this." That was my invitation.

I'm close to telling him that he regrets nearly everything he's ever done, but I don't, because there's no use ruining something that tries so hard to be perfect.

So in a moment, I'll leave this scene and this table, and we'll hop in that lift, and it will take us somewhere, and the speakers will play us an elevator love song as the night waits outside the windows to make the world only more beautiful than maybe it is.

Elevator, take me home.

_/

**When the world flips sideways for a moment, and the mind of a certain Murdoc Niccals flops into point of view:**

I must be brilliant, I really must be. Cause' you know, only extremely intelligent human beings know that to wean yourself from another person, you must first invite him to sleep in your bed. Really Murdoc, I mean bravo. Your brilliance just _must _be awarded.

Look at him over there. Just twiddling his fingers, and spinning those big sad eyes around the room, like he's looking for something. Maybe he's looking for me, except that would make him incredibly stupid, because I'm only right here on the edge of this little chair thing, avoiding his very existence.

I mean sweet lucifer, look at him. He's so damn awkward, just lookin' around, and swirling his thumbs together like a nervous wreck.

"Listen, why don't you uh... Why don't you go to sleep, eh? I'm just gonna..." Alright think, man. Don't make him feel bad, he might cry or something... "The bathtub back there is very comfortable you know, I'm just gonna' go back there. See you."

"You're gonna' sleep in a _bathtub_?" So he raises that stupid eyebrow at me. I'm not stupid. He's stupid. "Murdoc, you're being a bit ridiculous, I don't see why you can't just sleep over here. You can't be shy, you just gave me a headjob for gods sake."

"Shy? I'm not shy, I'm the very definition of outgoing, there's just not much room over there."

"... This is a king size bed, what do you mean there's no room?"

So I'm stuck in my lies, and he just looks at me. Damnit Stu, quit that. He's got such a gaze, and I don't know whether to embrace it, or chuck a shoe at his stupid face. That stupid stupid _beautiful_... face.

"I'm bout' to chuck a shoe at you, you know that?"

"Hey hey, calm down. Ain't my fault you're afraid of human contact." Stuart, do you think this is a fucking game? Yeah, while I kill you with my stare, allow me an attempt to contact your feeble little mind and tell you whats up.

What are you? I mean how the hell can one being, one stupid, _stupid_ little being actually capture me...Make me want you to be okay. How do you do that, that thing you do, those things you do... These things you do that make me want to... I dunno'... touch you. Scratch my name into your back. Everything.

"Come on." This is his bait. His fragile tongued, shaky throated invitation for me to regret everything so much more. Or try to regret it, at least. "We really have nothing left to lose."

"Except for maybe our minds."

A cold shake of the head from his side. "I've lost my mind a long time ago. Maybe you can help me find it?"

There are answers, of which I could use to determine my fate here. I could say yes, and most likely jump in there and let this kid fall away into his foolish little dreams, while he's also fallen quite nicley into my arms. Maybe I won't throw up. Maybe that actually sounds kind of nice.

This starving child of a man. Sunken cheeks, deep eyes. Porcelain skin, and he looks so breakable. Even more so than that ceiling he's talked about. In truth with one wrong movement or word I could shatter you, Stuart.. I could end you. You're so weak, so small, while keeping my same height. Nearly dead, only breathing like a man alive.

I've waited to long to answer, and the conversation has gone stale. He proves this by sighing and sinking away beneath the covers and saving me from saying something stupid.

"Alright, be like that." He mumbles from under his cave of covers. His cave, more like mine. It's my damned bed, I'm just nice enough to let him take residence there, and here even more so, on _my _island.

I sit on the edge, inches away from his feet, which look almost small under the outline of sheets and blankets. I almost sort of want to touch them, but that would be weird, and I'm not weird. Least I don't want to be. Minutes pass and I find myself lingering in his presence. Staying.

He moves.

Twitches. Shifts. An uncomfortable sleeper. He's always been. Always unhappy with what position he's sleeping in, or the consistency of the pillows, and other things like that. I find it incredibly sad that I know this, that I know so many things about this creature beneath my sheets. Beneath my skin.

"I can't sleep." His muffled voice spooks up on me.

"And why is that?"

"I had a thought." He responds carefully after a moment.

"Well, sure. You have lots of thoughts." I shrug quietly. "Otherwise you'd be more prone to keep your mouth shut about things."

"... But I had a thought." He protests with the voice of a child in a mans body.

"Is it a stupid thought?" I look only to the wall as I wait for his answer.

"Erm... Depends how you're going to look at it."

A bit of my ice melts away and exits in a tired sigh. "Alright. Shoot."

There's always these quiet pauses he takes. Like he's afraid to answer or ask. So he takes one to maybe soothe his fear.

"What if I go to hell?" I chuckle on the end of his words. Such a Stuart question.

"Than congratulations."

"Murdoc, I'm serious." He groans. "You're all sataned out and stuff, so you might enjoy it... But like, for me, It could be seriously shitty. I'll just... burn, and burn, and burn... Nothing else, because that's what you deserve if you go to hell, I guess. Eternal burning."

I don't much like the fear in his voice. Before it was funny, now it's a bit discomforting.

I pause, and speak again. "Why do you think you'd end up in hell?"

"I dunno'." He murmurs. "I mean, you don't have to look to deep into me Murdoc. Suicide is a sin, isn't it? Premarital sex, masturbation, lying... And well... You know... I'm sort of um..."

"Riding the homo train?"

"Oh hush... You know, like maybe possibly just a half of a teaspoon... gay." The end of his sentence is barely even hearable.

"Ha. You've finally admited it. _Someone _owes me money."

"Only for you though! I mean-... Ugh. Can't you be serious Murdoc, I mean... I'm kind of scared."

I should laugh. I should really _really_ just chuckle this off and watch the pain seep through him because that's what I do. But I can't. I don't want to. It... it feels _bad_.

"Don't be." I lightly rub his covered foot with my palm to maybe inflict some sort of comfort. "If hell was for people like you, it wouldn't be hell... And don't worry about death. Maybe you can stick around forever, you know? Maybe you could outlive Mick Jagger, or something. Lets see you try."

He laughs a tiny laugh. The kind that doesn't come from a funny joke. It comes from comfort. I like that laugh. It kills me quietly to say, but I like it. It doesn't last long. He snaps back to the cold again, and the questions surface again.

"What happens to us now?" Silence.

"What do you mean..."

"... What are _we_?"

"I don't know. Maybe it's better that we don't know, it makes things easier to deal with. Maybe lets say we're not friends. Maybe lets say we're not lovers. Let's say we don't hate each other. Maybe we just don't know, and we'll stick with that because it's easy."

"Nothing worth having is easy. Easy is boring."

"Hey, I'm trying to be all and dramatic and heartfelt here, and it ain't easy, so be a good sport and just nod your head when I say dramatic things, alright?"

"Well you're just doing a _wonderful_ job. I mean that last part where you told me to shut up got me _real_ sentimental over here."

"Alright braincase, being sentimental is crying and mowing over sweet memories, not being dramatic." I prod at his stupidity.

"Like... like remembering good things? Like that time we smoked pot at the river by that de-blessed church or whatever it was?"

"Yeah..." And so it all floats back. "Like that."

"We've had some good times."

"Like the river." I finish his sentence that seemed unfinished. "And you'd wanted to stay."

"Just a little bit longer..." Like that, he's gone. Leaving me again for his own feeble mind. I want to go there. He can go where ever he wants in his mind. I wonder where he's gone to. Maybe the river. Maybe that dirty river by that old church house...

And in this moment, forever is dead. Like I could watch him sleep for the rest of my life and never give it a second thought. In this moment, when touching and kissing seems irelevant, and the only thing I want to do is watch him breathe because he's there, and we're all so damn lucky that he hasn't left us yet.

I think of leaving. Not forever, not gone from the island. Just this bed, this room. For a moment, or the night. I fear that if I watch him anymore he might break, or crumble away. Looks so frail... So breakable. Maybe you're safer alone. I want you to be safe.

"Gross." His words are barely there. Spoken from half asleep lips.

"Huh?" I gently turn my head to find his eyelids still smoothed over in sleep.

"Gross." He repeats. "Don't you... remember? What you're supposed to say?"

I don't think I'd ever forgotten. Maybe I've always remembered, but either way a fragment floods back and I remember just what I'm supposed to speak in return to the word gross.

I smirk and give into him. "Ernk."

"Gross gross gross gross."

"Ernk ernk ernk ernk." I return them, each none louder or quieter than the other. A series of identical ernks that are nourished with a small giggle from the skeleton beneath the sheets.

I think of staying. Not forever, not to stay on this island. Just this bed, this room. For a moment, or the night. I fear if I leave him, he might break, or crumble away... So breakable.

"Maybe you're safer here. With me." Thoughts spoken aloud. I want you to be safe.

"... Are you asking me to stay?" Stuart has proven himself only a half living ghost in the cardboard shell of a sleeping man, by speaking up.

"Maybe I'm telling you to stay. Asking is for people who don't have control."

"You think you're so hard." He murmurs harmlessly. "I can see right through your walls, you're just as scared as I am."

"I could still kick you upside the face you know."

"You could." He agrees. "But you won't. You did afterall, just ask me for another chance."

"No I didn't. Your thoughts are out of bins, pick them up."

"We could try again." The topic breaks and he brings out his own. It waits in the air to be breathed in, and when I don't breathe it, he does.

"I know you've thought of it. I know you have, and so have I. We wouldn't have to tell no one, because we don't need them to know. We don't need them. Let them show us that we need them, cause' we don't."

We are alive, but we live in a dead memory. A dead memory that he tries so hard to revive.

"We could try again." He repeats.

"Yeah." I murmur hushly. "Yeah, we could... But you don't know that it would work. I don't, and neither do you.

"I know that." His foot softly dips out of the covers to nudge my side. "I know you think... You think you're so tough, and edgy... That you're too hard for someone like me. And you.. " A sigh breaks him. "But we could fix ourselves."

"Yeah. I know we could."

This was not an agreement. He knows this, and so do I. This is a confession. That I know what we could be. A confession, rather than a realization. We already know.

"Just go to your river." I tell. "Go to sleep, and go dream something, I dunno'."

"I'll see you there..."

"Uhuh. See you."

Like that, I stay. I can't leave. He breathes.

I breathe. The ocean hums, and I love you Stuart Pot, but fuck you also, because you confuse me so bad. A clock ticks, and time eats my mind in every way possible, as it bites my brain and inflicts those days, those times. Whatever they are. They're all so beautiful, so ugly.

For the second time, I wonder where he's gone to. Maybe again, the river.

Maybe I'm there too. I can see us now, and I can place you there with my mind. You, and your broken mirror reflection in the eyes of the river.

It's so hard to remember, us being there. Being slightly happy. Being slightly okay. At least we thought we were, but you were a small peice of broken glass that we couldn't see. I'm sorry for that, stuart.

Maybe while you sleep though, it's changed. You're okay. Maybe. I can see it.

You, in the eyes of the river. You're okay there.

Maybe things are different there. Wherever _there _is. I hope it's beautiful.

**So the world flips back. The view from the eyes of Murdoc is left.**

_/

_"You've never been in love, have you?" I ask. _

_He shakes his head and stares blankly off into the distance._

_"Love is a complication of sex, and I dont like complications."_

_I sigh, and secretly pack away my hopes, accepting the fact that they're too far off from reality. Off in space._

_"I'm tired." I sigh._

_"We'll go than." He attempts to get up. Surprising even myself, I tilt my head the left until it falls gracefully onto his shoulder._

_"No." I say. "We'll stay.." And when I dont get a punch in the face, or kicked into the river, I'm honestly surprised. He just doesn't move. Stays in the same spot, looking off into nothing. I keep my head there, and begin to shut my eyes._

_"Just.. a bit longer." I mutter, as my tired head carries me off into sleep, but leaving my body somewhere I want it to be. And the river rushes on._

**AN: Ah! Sorry for late uploads. Holidays, you know? And who would have known that my available uploading day would be christmas. Blah. Well, hang on guys! Still more to do, and thanks so much for reading! **

**What did you think? Love your opinions :) Thanks again so much! Mwah!**


	51. 51: Saving My Savior

**AN:Okay, okay, can I just like thank you guys about thirty five times?**

**Chapter 51: Saving my Savior**

I could say that time has flown by us like the wings of an eagle, or something deep and sticky like that, but to use the truth, it hasn't. Headaches and a good lack of booze or pills, made the music a bitch to record, but the days were somewhat of an ugly beautiful.

They've been endless sleep, sometimes cracked bliss, and on heavier days, a shadowy pain that either comes about full force, or lingers quietly, making me question if it was even there at all. It's not all been tears and sweat, though. Most days when we weren't pulling each others hair out over recording, and on the small margin _actually _recording, we were us. And through my eyes, it was our own montage that I could watch over and over...

There were late nights, and sweaty thumbs, both of which had been a result of wide stretched hours of Dead Space and Fallout Three. A generous amount of spit swapped on that same couch maybe an hour or two later. Grabbing. Teasing. Small fights. Bigger ones too. Regrets. Apologies. Sleep. More sleep. Headaches and sour good mornings, followed by badly cooked bangers and mash. Record record record, and drop. The eventual drop.

And damn, I miss it. Not that I should have any reason to, because it might has well have been last night, cause' he's still here and all, even though I haven't seen him much today. Once in the morning, but that's about it. I figure though, with my knowledge of Murdoc, he's probably still hung off of the Smirnoff that I _know _he's hiding from me. I can damn well smell it on his used breath, and he ain't been sharing too well. I figure I'll look for him, maybe blow of some of that pre-tour stress. We have afterall, got about a week or less until. So where are you, Murdoc?

Not in the kitchen, nope. I know this because I myself, was already in here scratching around for some crisps or a can of tango or something. Not a whiff of greasy hair, or cheap cigarettes in the air. Elsewhere, than. So the lounge. Not here, either. But there is the smell, and the remnants of last night. Overturned bowls, and a greying TV screen. Paused, and waiting, but we never came back for it.

Next guess, the study. Sometimes, on days like these when the clouds look sick, and they've spilled their grey to the rest of the sky, he's here. No work, no pen and papers or books. Just him, and the windows that frame the grey landscape. There is a lack of something in this room today, and that something is Murdoc.

Something else it lacks... Cleanliness. I'm no maid, or nothing, but this place looks like Murdoc may have taken a few too many tabs of tornado juice and thought he was an _actual _tornado again. Papers, scattered and pinned beneath an overturned desk. A fallen chair with a broken leg to match the rest of the scatter. Nearly all of his possessions, just trashed to the floor.

And ink. Black ink. A small, dark series of blotches across the floor.

"Murdoc?" Only calmly calling now. "Is everything okay, why is your study in shit shambles?

Second glances towards the floor steer me elsewhere, and I stop. Pause.

Blood. Oh _god_ it was never ink, it's blood. The black blurred splotches fade into my eyes, and turn to dark red. Red ink. Possibly red ink, right?

So this is kind of gross. I quickly swab my finger against the nearly dried crust of it, to where it pools into dampness. Here goes nothing, or maybe something. Sniff.

Blood. Not only blood, but _Murdoc's _blood. I don't know how I know, but I do, and with a single whiff of the metal musked chalky fluid, I'm brought enough to write a book on him.

"Muds?" My calm evolves to a sick worry. "Did you step on a nail and bleed yourself or something? This isn't funny."

This isn't a joke, and if it was, it would be a sick one. If this were to be a joke, he would have killed it by laughing out. He hasn't. There's blood on the floor, and the study is in shambles, and why... Murdoc, where are you? What the hell is going on here? I mean, he wouldn't just cut his own self up for a joke... Unless this isn't a joke.

"The psychoacoustic sound levels in this room are reaching an unnatural high. Has there been a distress?" Of course, this is the cyborg. Either smart talk, or acting like an idiot for this one. Seemingly fixed, she marches her way over like a proud soldier, and looks me in the eye.

"Yeah um, I guess so, have you seen Murdoc around here?"

"Approximately two hours, twenty one minutes, and thirty four seconds have passed since Master has been in his study." Okay...

"Alright.." I nod my chin quietly and carefully. "I mean, is he okay? There's blood on the ground, and I don't..."

"It has also been approximately two hours, twenty four minutes, and thirty five seconds since Master has been taken from his study."

"Taken?" So I suddenly sink a bit, but my heart just explodes in hyper active beating. "Taken, what- what do you mean, taken? Who took what?"

"The gang of Black Cloud pirates." She states ever-so normally. "Their vendetta on Master has grown to be large enough that they have felt they needed to take him into their own captive."

And I so nearly break. Fear, anger, fear, fear, fear...

"You... YOU DIDN'T STOP THEM? YOU JUST- YOU JUST LET THEM TAKE HIM AWAY?"

"When ordered to help with Master's escape, I happily obliged." She nods. "However, I was unsuccessful when one of the captains cronies had triggered the sleep mechanism in my back and sent me to sleep."

"SLEEP MECHANISM?" hyperventilation might take me as I talk. "YOU'RE A GUN SLINGING SAMURAI ROBOT THING, NOT AN ALARM CLOCK."

"While this is true, I do however have an alarm clock function under my chin. I would advise you to calm down, user Stuart Harold Pott, formerly Tusspot. Your cardiovascular levels are soaring."

I don't care. Not a single fuck is given, he's out there, and god knows where they have him.

"Well... Wh, what do I do? Should I call someone, or..."

"I would highly suggest you find a way to retrieve him." Snap of her words, and she's leaving. Out that door she marches, and I'm locked in a dropped jaw.

"Yeah, I'd suggest that too, you power guzzling piece of scrap." My anger gets the best of me as she leaves without turning back. Shut of the door, and I'm alone here. Singled out on my own cloud of flaming shit that will eventually drop me.

My hands cupped to the sides of my face as if it might help me think. But I can't think... I can't, because all there is here is fear, and fear, and fear. And questions... An endless array of stupid, worry doused questions.

Where are you?

Where the _fuck_ are you?

_/

So I call.

The phone, as basic of an item as it is, is locked away in his room, just in case I might change my mind and call for help off the island, which Murdoc has been utterly sure I would. Only for super catastrophic emergencies, am I allowed to the phone.

This is my definition of a super catastrophe. A catastrophe of the mind, more like.

Like if he's gone... Maybe the only catastrophe will be me... So again, I take my trembling fingers to the phone as decision shifts in my mind. So I have the phone, but who the hell do I call? It's not like anyone can just row their way down and help me, we're millions of miles out here. So far away... The cyborg won't do, she doesn't even know how to use typical human interaction.

And I can't do this alone... Not like this.

Problems with the island? Problems with the band? Supposed to call manager Dave... That's what he's told us, and I'm to scared to think of anything else. So dialing, Dave.

"Urngh... Hello?" The time change must be different from wherever Dave is, cause' he sounds real groggy after he finally answers.

"Dave, hey uh... It's 2D."

"Yeah, hey bud... Ugh...How's it going for you two down there..." The plastic interest in his voice becomes noticable.

"I d-don't know man, fuck." I just barely sputter out. "He's, he's gone, they took him. And and- and I dunno' what to do."

"Hold on, hold on. You're going a mile a minute, I can't place a word you're saying." He slowly explains. "Now calm down, and start over."

"He's..." I wet my dry throat with a wash of nervous saliva. Breathe in. Release. "He's gone... _They took him away_."

"Took him away? Who? Murdoc?"

I nod to only myself, and gnaw vigorously on my thumbnail. "Yeah... Oh man, fuck, shit shit _shit._ They're gonna' kill him, I know they are."

"Who? Who's going to kill him?" This picks up his tone a pit. Go figure.

"This... This gang of _pirates_." When a sigh exits from his end of the line, I furrow my eyebrows and lower my tone. "Listen, I know this sounds crazy, but he'd sold them so faulty weaponry a while back, and- and they've been out for him, and they've got him. I was down in my room so I couldn't hear, but they've got him, and they're going to kill him, I just... I just know they are."

""A what? A _gang?"_ Whispers his flabergasted self. "2D, you'd better not be joking, cause' this sure as hell ain't funny."

Deprived of breath and nearly everything else, I blink my eyes and exhale. "Why would I joke about something like this?"

A silence passes. A certain block of fragile quiet that hints he thinks I've gone bonkers. I _have_ gone bonkers, when you look at it.

"What am I supposed to do?" I pathetically whine. He groans.

"I don't fucking know. God, it would take us at least a week to get down there, and we don't have a week, you've gotta' do something."

"ME?" Panic. Oh god I'm panicking. I can feel it in my skin. "WHA- What am I supposed to do?!"

"Figure something out!" He hisses, and it burns me. I cringe. "Maybe go get one of them motorboats, and find the thugs, but if he's not here by the time we need him..."

"What?" I shake. "We're just gonna' leave him? How the fuck am I just supposed to forget about him, he's my friend!"

"Look, don't put me in this position damnit. Find him, or don't."

"But I, But..."

You really care about us, don't you dave? Is that why you've hung up your phone and turned your cheek on us? Your friends? Basically your family? Fuck you... Fuck you all, and your stupid money and music, none of you care about us, you just want your- your paper filth, and your fame, you don't give two shits about us...

Click. Snap. Boom. I slide to the ground and I don't get up.

And I don't know how... I don't know I can do this alone... And If I do, what If I fail? What if I let him die? I can't do this, I'm no superman, I'm not some sort of power leaking Jedi, and I'm not even strong in the first place.

I'm Stuart. Stuart is weak. Stuart is nearly nothing. Please get up. I need to save him... I need to try.

I can't let you go. I'm not ready for goodbye...

I'm not ready for this either.

Something... Something out there. Just fucking help me.

_/

I can almost see you there, Murdoc...

Across the ocean... It's cold, but the plastic ground still burns the pads of my feet.

But... I can't. I can't lie to myself. You're so far away... And how do I find you?

You've always found me... You've always saved me. You're my hero, and I'm the child in the burning building. And without you, I'd be dead. Litteraly.

Now it's my turn. I'm to save you... And how? I may be tall, or what not, but how the hell do I do this? Inside, I'm so small. So weak, and puny... And you're so strong... How do I find you?

And should I? What if I just screw things up so much worse? Please tell me... God damn, I'm going insane, but tell me. Send me a thought, send me a message in a bottle, but just tell me... Tell me what to do...

Should I send someone else?

Should I... Should I just go?

And I don't know... Maybe in time I'll know. But time is something we don't have.

We don't have you either... And we need you so bad...

**REVIEWER VOTE:**

**Haven't been doing enough of these :P so here you are! **

**Should 2D:**

**A: Go Alone**

**B: Get Cyborg to go**

**And I've figured different outcomes for both of these. Thanks for reading, and do tell me what you think! Thanks so much for reading :)**


	52. 52: Hide and Seek

**Chapter 52: Hide and Seek**

**AN: Wow, we've come quite a way, haven't we? Just looked back at the earlier chapters. Jeez. It's so weird. Sorry for this being so long, but please don't get bored haha :) I know how grueling it can be to read long things, so thanks for your time!**

It's sickening. Sickening that this was all so set to happen. Meant to be.

That he would float away. Shift his feet a bit. Make bad decisions, make one decision that might have been worse than the rest in the long run. And it took him away. That shift of his feet that took him away from our cracking ground.

A lost baloon in the sky, and I can't see him. Not even when I squint real hard, and wrinkle my eyes. He's out on the ocean. Below warm september stars, blanketed by a velvet blue sky.

I see you there, Murdoc.

Only just in my head... Trying to be brave. Fighting with your sassy tongue. Tearing them around tooth and nail with your words. You're bleeding. Cut, bruised, battered. You're tied up. A Surly grimace standing tall on your hard face. But that's your nature, and you're so used to it. It's nearly funny to think that it doesn't affect you in the slightest way, all while I'm over here, this close to shitting my britches.

I'll find you though. Please don't doubt it, because maybe it will take me hours, days, weeks, but I will be there. In more ways than one, you have found me in every way I so badly needed to be found, and I'll find you too.

"Are you positive that your embarking to the rescue of Master will be safe?" She's behind me, standing in my footprints. I didn't see her before, but she fragiley talks to me as I stand before the deep sea. Maybe trying to be more than just a robot. Maybe trying to be a friend.

"I dunno'." I shake my head, but I don't look to her. "It can't matter. I owe it to him... He needs me."

I now find myself, forgetting that she _is _in fact there. Through being completely alone, there is still I guess, someone behind me.

"You are sure?"

Maybe I can't nod because I'm scared... Maybe I can't nod because I don't need to. All that's needed here is my words. Bravery. My final stand.

"... Yeah... Yeah, I'm sure. As sure as I'm going to get." And even though I agree to go, I find myself unable to move. Glued to the easy. Waiting for the difficult to fade away. She sighs. I didn't think it possible, for dolls made of wire and and circuits to sigh. Maybe she's learning. But she does, and approaches me with subtle precaution that hints in the air.

"Than you will have to allow me to assist you in your duties."

"What?" Only now do I gently jerk my head back to catch the full view of her. She looks serious. completely serious. Like always.

"My intentions are not to inflict any form of offence, but you do not seem to act very intelligent, and to let you go alone would be a direct violation of my command to protect you."

"Uhmm... I'm sorry, I didn't understand a word of that."

It looks like she's rolled her eyes. Did she roll her eyes, or is it just me? "No offence, but you're kind of an idiot, and I'm not supposed to stand by and watch you get killed."

"Woah." A smile quirks its way into half of my mouth. It feels good. "I thought you couldn't talk like... like normal. Like the rest of us."

She looks nearly taken aback. Almost offended. I didn't think emotion was a _thing_ for her. "I will speak like I might need to... As for normal..." A slight pause.

A pick up. "Your normal is yours, and you paint it the way you want it to be. You let the others paint it for you, and you might not like what you have. Please don't ever feel like you might need to hide from yourself."

I cock my head to the side and let myself be struck with slight awe. "Why are telling me this?"

And she cocks her head. Just like I've cocked mine. "Your real normal wants to get out very badly. I have level censors for these sorts of things."

And I think that in this single moment of questions and answers and ocean and clouds, I have learned more than one million years of textbooks and globes will teach me. And in this moment, I want to live because of reasons. So many of them, and they swim in my head.

I'm alive, I'm okay, whales usually aren't around most places, my parents love me, I have wonderful friends, even if they aren't here, I've got some talent, dogs are cool, cats aren't always mean, flowers smell good, I just found out what _nutella_ is, apparently I'm okay looking, maybe I could take a dance class, I found a nickel this morning, Noodle is still alive, Russel is somewhere, okay, and Murdoc is...

Murdoc is... Murdoc is Murdoc. Everything. I think in the past eleven years, I've learned a new element. He's not a person. He's a force, and he's composed me. Become part of the air I breathe. Settled into my mind, and my heart. And he's taught us both some valuable things. That love is a crazy, weird, animal fucking thing that will settle wherever the hell it wants, and there's nothing you can do but watch and listen. We just happened to stop and listen, so here we are.

And I'm fighting for the person who fought for me.

"Thank you." I so finally end my thoughts with the quiet friendliness that Cyborg deserves. "Really... Thanks."

"You are of course welcome, but there isn't much time to be warm." She tells me. "I'm afraid if we wait much longer, your friend is going to be another body in the ocean. If I've timed it right, if we leave about now on one of the motorboats, we should reach them around the peak of night, giving us enough time to sneak onto the ship while remaining unseen. "

"Sneak onto the boat?" I ask in small shock. "How- How are we supposed to sneak onto a god damn pirate ship?"

"You ask too many questions. Leave the logic work to me. You just... uh... Wait here and don't falter anything too much."

With that and no goodbye, she leaves me on the cold plastic shore as I wait. As he waits. While our forms of waiting stay forever, two different types. And maybe I'm a little happier now. A little stronger. A little more worried.

A little more everything. I wish he could see this right now. See what we're doing for him. Soon enough, he will. I'll see to it that he does.

_/

By the time the sky has melted from sun yolk yellow, to a cold bruised black, I've nearly melted too. Time seems dead, just because I'm so tired, but I know of course that it is very much alive, but dying as we waste it searching for a ghost ship hidden in the dawn mist.

Something pokes out below me. A cow hyde bag, waterproof. It was Murdoc's. Still is, I shouldn't talk like that. Inside of it, I'm not sure. Cyborg's packed it. I assume it's probably her weapons and ropes and hooks. Things we might need, that is, if we ever do end up finding this ship, which seems to be entirely positive that the last thing it wants to do is find us.

"Well, where the hell is it?" I lose a bit of myself to anger. Frustration. She seems to know exactly what she's doing. Just consumes the night with concentration, as she kneels by the small bow of this tiny boat, and looks on, on, on...

"I mean-" I sputter. "What if- What if we're just out here all night? What if we don't even find it, and he's just gone?"

"Quiet." Not a command. More like just a word she throws out silently. "You haven't been paying much attention, have you?"

"Well, no- I mean..."

"Look." She doesn't tell me where to. Just tells me, like I should already know. "Just look."

The sky ahead. So cold, just navy black ice, waiting to crack. A solid colour, with nothing to hatch it away from _only_ that colour. But if you turn it this way... the quiet way. The way without desperation. It changes. Only a small part, very small and Shapley and sharp.

Nearly pitch black, just a part. In the carved shape of the front of a pirate ship, resting small in the distance of my vision.

"Is that it?" I ask in slight awe. "That little black part of the sky ahead?"

Maybe she's nodding. It's quite dark, but I feel like she might just be.

"That would be their mothership. You might want to rest for a little bit until we get there. It will be at least twenty minutes until we reach it, since we'll have to slow down the motor a bit to remain unheard."

She's given me a slew of words, but all I've heard is rest, which in her little robotic tongue, is sleep. I feel at first, that I should reject to be polite, and offer to stay awake until we get there. And than the reality of how tired I am kicks in, and I thank her quietly before sinking into my place at the bottom of the boat.

What remains in my head before my thoughts are cleared away for sleep, is the realization that this is the same motor boat. The discoloured stains on aging wood and uncleaned crusts are still alive, and tingling with a memory that might soon be dead. Maybe, this will be all I have left of him. His stains, and the smell on his dirty clothing.

These are dreadful thoughts. I've got to shake them away, and go to sleep, but he calls. He calls and begs for help, echoing in my broken brain. Or rather, the idea of his possible death calls. I don't answer. I can't. It hurts too bad. And it hurts, and it hurts, and it hurts, until I'm awoken by the manic shaking of my shoulders, by the Cyborg.

"Awaken." She whispers in a tiny panic. "Awaken! Get yourself up!"

"Huh? What?" The words float from my mouth, but shortly die off in shock, caused by the gruff browned black sky in front of us, which is shortly revealed to be something other. Wood. Wood typically attached to you know, a pirate ship. And I look up...

And here we are. There it is. Grimy and disgusting, big and beautiful. The black cloud Pirate ship. We are ants, lingering at the foot of the other worldly boat, which could very well crush us whenever it pleases.

"Shit..." My lips move with the quiet rhythm of the ocean wind. "Would you look at that..."

"I have." She says as she quickly fumbles through the leather bag. "And it's not going to be easy to scale. It's very large."

"Scale?" I ask, a bit taken aback. "You mean like... climb?"

"You sound shocked. How else were you expecting to get up there?"

"Uhmm... Don't you have like... A jetpack, or something?"

"No." She clicks some sort of back holster over her chest and back. "How silly... Where could I have placed my grappling hook."

"Grappling hook?" I shift a bit. "Oh, so a jetpack is silly, but a grappling hook is perfectly normal?"

"Iron and metal are quite easy to come by- ah, here it is- Rocket fuel however, is not. Now sit behind me and let me strap you in."

I bite my lip and inch back uncomfortably. "Uh sorry, but I don't really think I like you in that way."

I'm quite an idiot. She sends this message by glowering her sparkity eyes and cocking her head to an_ oh my god shut up_ type low.

"I'm aware of that. You'll need to be strapped into this double harness so that I can pull you up there."

"What if I like..." Reasons swim in my brain. "Fall and crack my ankle or something?"

"It's up to you." She tosses me a shrug, in which I interpret as a snotty one. "You have to ask yourself what kind of person you are. Would you risk a few broken bones for the life of a friend, or risk the life of a friend for a few broken bones."

"I'm pretty sure you stole that from signs" I groan nastily. "But yeah alright let's get this over with."

With that, I scoot carefully behind her, and she gets to proving her profession. You know, as she clicks these straps and buckles around us, it rings truer and true that Murdoc has the ability to craft a machine that proves to be smarter, stronger, and all together more efficient than me. Why.

"Step one is a go." She confirms. "Now for the grappling hook."

I roll my eyes like a sassy woman as she readies herself to throw that damn thing up in the air like It might just magically catch- Oh. It did.

I take my eyes from the hook, so pleasently thrown and attached to the side of the ship, and I stare at her in utter awe, though all I can really turn to is the back of her head.

"Christ almighty. He wasn't kidding, you do some hardcore stuff."

"Your praise goes noticed, but we have shit to do."

That certain part of her vocabulary must have been a gift from Murdoc. I'd laugh, if the feeling of having my feet and arse torn from the boat before my very mind can process this wasn't a factor. I've never flown before, except for maybe on airplanes. But If I ever did sprout wings, or develop helium in my lungs, I'd imagine it like this.

Soaring up into the air for a meer four seconds, before crashing over the edge and onto the floor. Knees first. Skid. Owch.

"You didn't tell me that was a grappling gun." I whine in quiet pain from my scuffed knees.

"I thought you might be a bit more calm if you thought we had to just climb. I was right." Only now did I notice she never crashed. Just jumped and glided and landed to her feet with elegance. Elegance that I such lack, which could be exactly why I rocketed straight to the floor. But I stand back up, and brush away my complaints.

So, we kick into action.

"Okay." I start this off with a simple sigh. "So... What do we do?"

I didn't exactly think this through very well. I was sort of just expecting that she would know what to do, and start us off here. So now I just look like a bashful idiot with his hands buried in his pockets and pink cheeks.

"Locate him, I guess." Out of the leather bag I've just now noticed she's brought, is pulled some sort of bulky black handgun that I can't really identify. I mean, I'm not really a weapon guy. Give me an instrument any day, and I'll tell you what for about the son of a bitch, but guns... Not so much.

She loads that thing, and I try my best to stay out of the way. I just look everywhere. Up here... where everything is so far up and far out... A boat in the sky. The cloud sick dawn lingers around the dirty scuffed interior of the decaying boat. And somewhere below or beside us, he's here. Waiting.

"Ready?" She awakes me from my foggy focus, and I whip around to great her eyes.

"Yeah, uh... Alright. Let's go. Hey why don't I get a gun?"

"Because I don't trust you with a gun." She whispers as we creep quietly away from the deck.

"You're technichally only like... a year old, or less, what makes you qualified?"

"I'll blow your fucking head off, that's what makes me qualified." She bites back.

"Woah." I mutter at her little out of character out burst. "That didn't sound like your usual banter."

"Yeah, well..."

_Thud.. Smack... Hit.. Bang_..._fall_

Ripped away. And I can't feel anything. Somethings hit me, I think. But I can't hear anything... And I can't see anything... Or feel anything... And I've failed. I've died, I've fallen asleep, I've failed... Whatever this is. Because I'm done.

That quick. Three seconds is all it took, and game over, square one. No waking up. I try. Try so fucking hard. Wake up. Fucking wake up, he _needs_ you. Get up you selfish arse, get up... Try...

You have to try. It can't have ended this quick, you have to get up. It's not over. We haven't lost yet... Please get up... Please get up... _Please_...

_/

Awake.

"Wake your scrawny arse up, you little ship shaming swamp rat."

There is no where am I. I know exactly where I am, when my mind snaps forward and brings me to an atmosphere smelling of rum, and body odor, and death. Captive.

"Did you not ere' me? Snap to boy, come off it!" With my refusal to open my eyes, comes the rain of some sort of liquid onto my head. Smells sort of like... piss. Or fermented brandy. Hoping for the second, I click my eyes open and greet the scene.

That same pirate, That same disgusting beautiful mine with the cerulean pools for eyes. Even so in this dark rabbit hole of a room, they glow so happily blue. He circles the perimeter of this dark room, as I jerk around in my ropes. Fucking ropes, I'm tied up. To some sort of wood railing.

"Eugh..." I grunt at the liquid dripping slowly, and sticking up strands of my hair. "What is this?"

"Piss, or bad gin. I'll let you decide which one it might have been, mate." The muscular hulk of a man snarls.

"Sean, is it?" I find myself asking. Remembering. Shaking away the fear, because who really fucking cares.

"Smart one, we've got here." He waves his bandaged pointer. "Good memory. Too bad it ain't going to save you much."

"Where's Murdoc." I'm to the point. Not waiting this tired time.

"Not sure I know who that is, bluey."

"Don't fuck with me." I hiss and he steps back a bit. Possible coward. "You know who he is."

"Hey watch your mouth, fucker." Slapped. He brings himself right forward to inflict some pain in the side of my cheek. "You've grown some balls, I'll give you that."

"Thanks so much." I deadpan into his gnarled-handsome face. "Now where is he..."

"Here. That's as much as I think I'll say. Not with you, though. Don't think we's stupid enough to lock you two blokes down together."

"...What do you want with us..." I breathe.

He picks casually at his grimy nails, and strolls around the floor. "It's what we want with him. We give close to nothing bout' you. You might still be alright, cuddled on your nice little beach if you wasn't stupid enough to come here."

"Than what _do _you want with him..."

"Haven't decided yet. He's wronged us, and that's quite enough. Might sell him or something. Feed him to the fish, maybe. Captain hasn't decided yet."

"Yeah, fuck you and your fucking captain."

My bravery has earned me a sharp kick in the chest, and a salty gust of pirate whisper to the face, as he grabs my collar and jerks me forward.

"I said to watch your fucking mouth, you dirty twit." With each word his rotten breath spews, he jerks me closer. "You're lucky we haven't ripped your nads out of their sockets."

"Knads don't have sockets." With another whap of his hand to my face, it's clear that my comeback was a mistake.

"And you're also quite lucky that I'm not the one who's got to deal with you. We've got Carell for that."

_Carell_

Why does this sound so familiar? That name, Carell... Sounds important... I give up, anyway. There's nothing he can do but hit me harder, and sink me deeper.

"So until he's here, you're to stay put and sit pretty, are we clear?"

"Clear." _Yeah. We're fucking clear._ Now get out of my sight. It's kind of funny how he does, just leave after I've thought that. But not funny enough to drown this away... To stall.

I could break, if I wasn't already half broken. My confidence, my will to live, that peace of mind... Snatched away with the stupidity, brought from _actually _thinking I could be the hero. That I could maybe save him, after all of the times he's saved me. And it's so dark here... I'm scared. And wherever he is, I know he's probably so brave. So unphased by this all.

He's one peice together, and I am one million scattered, just as easily as I was fixed. Damn, I could go for a fag right now... or anything other than this... So the minutes pass and I'm not kidding.

They're minutes. Than hours. And all there is to do is sit. Sit. Sit.

Quite as slow as the hours pass, does the door open quickly. Well, this is it. It's been a good run. It's been an alright run. Let's be good, for these last few minutes before I'm dead or insane. Let's make them one hell of a good time.

"Well well well... Heard you been somewhat of a little spitfire-"

The partly familiar voice halts itself when he approaches, and catches glimpse of me. It's probably the hair. It's usually the hair.

"Shit, man..." I refuse to lift my chin. Just hang down, and listen to this voice. Very farmiliar. Hispanic drawl. Is that... hold on... let me get my ears on right...

"2D-OD?"

The nickname. The second nickname, to be exact. Rehab. Two thousand six. Also a short few hours of jail time...

"Wait, it's that _Carell_?"

And he looks like shit, when I finally turn up to see him. A baggy eyed brown skeleton, a run down house of a man. Pain in his eyes. Hunger in them too.

"... Jeez, when they said blue hair I didn't think- Wh- How the fuck did you get yourself in here?" He doesn't even sound happy. Just scared, and empty.

"I.. uh.. my friend... Jesus, am I glad to see you... What are you doing here, being a pirate or what not? I thought you'd had that janitor job... back at Essex park."

By now he's settled to the ground, head in his hand. "Coke is a hell of a drug... I'm not going into why right now, we... we gotta' get you out of here."

"Won't your crew like... kill you, if you do that?"

"Listen..." He sighs quietly. Darts me down with those dead eyes. "I'll... I'll tell em' I drowned you, okay? I can't leave, they'll hunt me down, but I can get you down to your boat... That sparky doll of yours too. They got her batteries. Jammed gun, she had. So listen, is that boat down there yours?"

A silent nod. He continues.

"Sean says he's gonna fish it out tomorrow and sell it. He's gone off to bed now. Maybe I can get you down there quietly. But we gotta' go now, alright?"

"Alright, alright. Thanks man... You've saved my arse." As quick as the adrenalin of being safe has entered, it has sunk again. Soon as he's done untying me, I breathe deep, and break open my question.

"That man you guys have captured... Murdoc... You know him?"

"Your buddy- band guy..." He nods silently. "I recognized him..."

"So he's okay?"

"Yeah uh..." Than he sinks again. Just enough to sink me too. "Yeah man, he's fine."

The waver in his voice is strange. Since he's just told me he's okay... But he's okay. He's _alive._ We came in time, and we're... We're alright. We've won. We've fucking one.

"Great... Oh thank god. We can just get him and go than..."

There's a pause, and I don't like it at all. A long tried pause, in which he takes to sink me again with his sad eyes.

"I can't..." He sighs away my hope. "I can't do that. They don't care much for you, but they want him alive, and they want him here. I take him, and they'll kill us both.. I can't risk it right now."

But I've... _But I've come so far... I tried so hard..._

"Wh... What?" My pride sinks. I sink. Everything just.. falls.

"Listen, maybe I could figure something when we dock. Help him out. But I let you both go, and they'll know-"

"Than let him go!' I quiver. "Leave me here, I'll be fine... Just... Let him go."

"It's not like that." He shakes his head. "He has to stay... For now... He has to stay."

_/

Five minutes. I am given five minutes to leave him, possibly forever. Down past the barrels, take a right at the apple crates, stop at the second door and seek goodbye.

Sort of like hide and seek. That calms me down. To think it a game. Find him, and than go hide. Wait for him to find me. But only five minutes. Only that, and don't go over.

This is the door. The one past the barrels, and apple crates. Quietly. So quietly. Open.

_Seek_

It's only been maybe a day. Less than twenty four hours since I was _graced_ with his oily fiendish presence. That sentence right there. That makes it sound like I hate him. Sometimes I do. Sometimes I really do. So why is it that I find him sleeping there, under the windows shadow of moon and stars, and I nearly burst.

That I'm so glad you're okay... You're alive, over there, and I waste not a second to close that door that took me, and rush to your side. You're tied up hands shake in your sleep. Sunken to the ground. I shake your shoulders. Wake you up. Wake, wake wake...

"Fuck it, leave me alone... For once." His voice. It feels like years since I've heard his voice. So much more tired... Scratchy.

"No mate, it's me... it's It's Stuart."

His eyes peel. There's shock there, in those dying globes. "Get out. You need to leave right now... They'll kill you."

Just anger there, in his voice. Concern. Barley even happy to see me.

"No Murdoc, you don't understand... I-"

"No, _you _don't understand." He whispers in a hiss. "If one of those blokes finds you down here, they will quite literally shove their spurs up your arse."

"Carell's helping me leave... I've got five minutes to say goodbye"

"You know Carell? Never mind, just-"

"Listen..." I breathe. We're so close. My knees touch his legs. My hands, still to his shoulders. "Maybe I can get you out of here... Maybe I could"

Too many head shakes today. He shakes his too, slowly. A rejection.

"You know I can't leave... You know that... don't you?"

"Don't say that." I cringe my eyes shut. "Don't fucking say that, don't end this... This- this isn't over."

"I know it's not." He shakes it off. "I _will_ get out of here, do you understand? Just not now, alright?"

He looks at me, but I can't take it. I can't just watch his rejection.

"Tuss, look at me. Fucking look at me."

Almost like a magnet. His eyes pull me over, and I melt into them as we stare.

"You're going to go back to the beach and wait for the tour, okay? Tell me okay."

"No.." I argue. "No, I-"

"Say okay..."

How he does it, I'm unsure. But I give in. "Okay."

"And you're going to do the tour without me. The company will get another bassist, they don't care... And you'll take the Cyborg with you. If the crowd asks, than you tell them I'm a flake, and I didn't show up, alright?"

"Alright..." I mumble.

"And... I'll find you. You go wherever you want after that, but I swear I'll fucking find you... And than, I don't know, but I swear on my fucking life, I'll be there."

"What if they kill you?" I bite my tongue for comfort. "I mean... what if, what if they just decide to kill you before you can get out?"

"Stu.." He scoffs and smiles gently. A gentle change in his attitude. "You know me. Now would I just up and let a bunch of fat ol' bastards kill me that easily."

"Some of them aren't that fat..." I protest.

"So I'll shoot them." He shrugs tiredly.

"But what if- What if-"

"Stuart, you have to promise me something." Curious to what this something is, I ask just this.

"What..."

"Be safe..." He softly says. "And I mean not just from the pirates and them, but from yourself, okay? You've come so far... And I know you'll be okay. You can be strong. I know you can..."

"... I promise." I tell him with the last of my heart.

"Good... Now you have to go. I know it's hard, but you have to go-"

"Murdoc..."

"What is it?"

"... Gross." So for a moment after my word, it's quiet. But I know... I know he'll do it. And he does. With a half angry smile, he blankly mutters "ernk."

I smile at him, and he smiles at him, but I have a secret. Mine was partly fake. Half composed of worry, as I find it so hard to leave. So I watch him for that extra moment, as he gazes away at the stars through a crack in the wall.

He eats the stars with his eyes, and he swallows them with his soul. And I watch him watch.

And I leave.

And he watches me without his eyes.

He watches. And in a way, another game begins. I hide again, as he waits to find.

Hide and Seek.

**AN: looong chapter. bluh. Well thank you so much for reading!**

**What did you guys think, huh? You really do help me improve! Thanks :)**


	53. 53: Finders Keepers

**Chapter 53: Finders Keepers**

**AN: A little bit more headcanoning and storyline fitting in here. Blah. And woah, I'm REALLY bad at updating on time. Hate being sick :P Sorry about that, and thanks for waiting!**

Seventeen...

Seventeen tour destinations so far. Seventeen lousy excuses to his absence. And seventeen damn lonely nights on seventeen hotel rooftops overlooking seventeen different cities, glowing and igniting in secret lonesome. Only seventeen. Seventeen. Seems like hundreds.

Montreal, was maybe the hardest. I'd tell him so If I could. Montreal marked our first tour destination, and explaining why a third of the band was nowhere to be found was a lousy job, in the least. Got easier as more destinations passed, but not really. While it became easier to lie and roll out that same excuse as to why he wasn't there, the real one always sits patiently in the back of my head. So hard to push away...

I should say though, that sixteen of these seventeen shows have been played off by Damon, and the live band. The first one, up in Montreal, they'd been gracious enough to let me do myself, with the Cyborg, plus a fill-in drummer and bassist. Wasn't the same to them though... Seemed broken. So the live band did the other sixteen, and tonight, the eighteenth show, the company has decided to let me roll the dice and perform again. Not that I really want to...

This night is a cold one. A slight frost over the fencing on my hotel room balcony. The kind of air that bites at you, and might bother you if you didn't already have worse things to be biting at you. It's another city. November second. Seattle Key arena, tonight.

I admit, it's particularly harder. I've only just been to this city one or two times before, and it's quite beautiful... But it's quite ugly. Quite both. There's enough history here I guess, to blend into some sort of ugly beautiful. Even in the small amount of time we were here, we'd created a lifetime of memories to fill my head.

gasworks park. He'd tricked me out of the car with some bogus lie about walking whales. The pipe building interior was dark. Dark enough to blind you of false priorites, and set new ones. Like building relationships, letting them grow... Walking back to that car, stolen car I'm sure it was... And being different people, but all the same. Now gone.

They call for me. Through this thick hotel room door... The managers, assistants, whoever they are... They tell me it's time to go. We're already late as it is, they say. I'm not one to be a diva, even through not wanting to go in the first place. Here's a little picker upper: I'm already wasted enough to be able to leave. They scold me for it as I'm escorted to the car, but I can't hear them. I can't hear them if I don't want to. All I want to do... is just close my eyes...

And by the time I open them again, we're already there. Driven through the back of the building so not to be swarmed by seas of fangirls and bloggers. But it's all just pretty lights and distant shouts as I'm pulled away, and stuffed inside some simple and clean little room. Bright and warm, but secretly dark and cold.

They're yelling at me. Shouting, being very cross.

_"Come on man, come off it!"_

_"He's gone off his rocker, plain and simple."_

_"Great. Every band member either missing, or emotionally torn down. Just beautiful."_

_"Slow down, see if he'll liven up. Here man, drink this;"_

Smart of them, to hand a drunkard a steaming porcelain mug, cause' I nearly lose grip of it and send it shattering to the sandy carpet beneath us. Seems to be coffee. I'm not that destroyed, and I can pick enough from the smell, and the heat, that this is coffee. Never been too much of a coffee man, but I want desperately for the noise to stop. I down it lightly as they ask me to. They wait a few minutes while I drink, these evil people wait. They don't give a shit about me, they're just like Dave.

It's the money, and it's the power that they hold with them. And I guarantee if Murdoc walked back through those stage doors right now, they'd stick a bass in his hand and boot him right back to wherever they want him, no worries, no questions.

They don't care. They don't know of the pain in my stomach as they work on me. Powder my face. Trim my hair. They fix what they _think _needs to be fixed, but never what really does. They don't care anyway... I can feel their eyes on me. They think I'm crazy, flat out jumbled in the head. Maybe I am. Maybe in such a way, I am.

"Ten minutes."A head pokes around the door, uninvited. _ "_Fix him up as best you can, will you Charice?"

"If by that you mean getting him sober enough in time, I don't know if we have much hope. He won't even talk."

What _Charice_ doesn't know, is that I'm only refraining from mindless chatter because I've nothing to say. I'm tired, I'm drained, and I've no will to perform, or even move, for that matter.

With my aching head, I count down these ten minutes. Much too quickly though, because by the time the fog of backward counting has cleared from my mind, I haven't been called yet. But I still tick away, and count the lingering seconds as they drop off, one by one by one...

Nine..

Eight..

Seven..

"Welcome to the world of the plastic beach has just been started. We'll need you in five, bud." A voice to match yet another soul I want to punch in the face. Unknowing of this, he jaunts in anyways in his expensive dressings and glasses, and shuts the noise behind him with that blocky white door.

"Charice, you couldn't give me a minute with with 2D could you? My, he looks lovely by the way, you've done your job right."

Before following his quiet commands, she tosses me some sort of vocal instruction on seeming a bit more sober on stage. She's a nice gal, and I do try to listen... But my ears keep as empty as my head. She follows out anyways.

"Hi Dave." I greet him _ever so brightly_.

"2D ol' fellow. Hows that headache been?" Not much better, and you've been much help haven't you Davey boy? I'd love to tell him just that, but I play polite, and tip him a nod. He tips me one back, and tips those aviators down his squat nose in quite the same way.

"Ready to give Damon an' his live band a little break than?"

"More like a run for their money..." I feel like acting a little cocky towards him, even if it is weak, feels right. Just because it might piss him off a little.

"Well you've got your heart in the right place, but we must be grateful... And you know... Behave."

"Behave?" I slightly furrow my brows at this silliness. "Who says I haven't been behaving, me mum?"

"Now, this is what I'm talking about 2D... You've been... sliding a bit. What with the talking back, and the drinking. It's not like you. It's just moody."

"Over half my bands missing and no ones doing a bloody fucking thing to find them, I'm sorry, but-"

"And that's... that's the other thing..." The slim ending in his voice. That narrow drop. I don't like it.

"What's the other thing?"

"You just... Man... you _need _to get over this whole _"war hero: finding my friends"_ thing." The casuality in his voice leaks into my skin. "Noodle and Russ could be anywhere, and there's proof that they're alive, but there's just no hope in finding them. They don't want to be found, I'm telling you. They've made it physically impossible, they're not on the map... As for Murdoc..."

"I told you where he is." I find small comfort in the gnawing of my short fingernails. "He's out there-"

"With a pirate gang, yes you've told us..." He sighs. And right there. Right in this second, there's a roll in his eyes that comes clean. They never believed me. How could they believe me...

"And you don't believe me, do you?"

"We've had the missing persons department on this for a month, lad. There are... There are no god damned pirate ships. We've had them look-"

"Well have them look again!"

With every protest I fire, he seems to be heating up to an ugly shade of fuchsia.

"it's not... It's not that easy... And we don't think he's coming back."

"He's coming back." I shake my head in cold denial. "You'll see. He'll be back, they'll all be back."

"YOU KNOW WHAT?" Ooh look, anger. Look now, he's standing up. Red in the face. Haven't faced _this_ before. "I can't afford to deal with this right now... You'll be out there when you're called. Your opening is last living souls, and I don't want to hear anymore of this missing friends crap, you got that?"

"Yeah." I mumble for only him. Lie. "Yeah, yeah I got it."

He leaves in a hot anger that will soon enough melt, and be absorbed by his money and women. Easy. These are people with small problems. And I'm not one to say I've got bigger problems than everyone else, but at least my problems aren't other people with problems. Fuck you, Dave.

I'm called to the stage in a moment, and I barely hear it, because I'm thickly coated in my own anger and fear and worry. A bad mixture, and it hurts on the skin, and on the heart... I think worry is the worst.

I follow these white hallways, and I think. Think about worry. Everyone worries. All these people arround me worry. All these important people. Busy people in a busy hallway, who stop and watch as I'm guided through by heavy men in black and a small women with a set list. I walk and I walk, and I think about worry.

Such a sick thing. Cause' you can forget about it, but as soon as you get happy cause' you forgot about what you were worrying about, you start the worrying right back up because you've just remembered again. And that gets confusing, so it sicks up your head and your stomach, and you just want to go home, and be with someone who isn't there.

Maybe that someone who gave you your worry. Your disease. Or maybe in some cases your medicine.

And when those stage doors are opened for me, and I quietly sneak out on that stage, with the Cyborg and a few other musicians who hold no names with me, I wonder about them, and I wonder about all these people.

So bright, and so dark out here... Thousands of little faces in an ocean of black and noise, and noise, and excitement... Thousands of worriers. What do you worry about? How do you hurt? What's your disease, and what's your medicine?

They cheer, and they scream like new born children under first light, and I just watch them. Grab the microphone... And watch them.

Still so wasted.

Think I might fall...

Watch them...

Speak to them.

"Think I'm going to try not to be weird tonight..." They become hush. Confused, maybe. I'm confused too. Hard not to be. But I continue. "But I really don't know, cause' all of my friends are fucking gone, but hey? Let's party, right? That's what... What life does, and such... I'm 2D, by the way... Probably you already knew that."

If I could see Daves face right now. If he could see his little puppet fucking with the show...

"And I heard, I'm supposed to do music for all you... people out there... So why not? Let's be the last living souls. And here we fucking go..."

Thus, ignite the show.  
_/

**Some hours later:**

There are times when the strings in my brain snap, and I remember things. Like falling apart in a strip bar parking lot, and actually _not_ remembering it, but coming together several hours later at the hands of Murdoc. Or like blue skies, with so many many clouds in them, to be noticed by name-nervous psychotic men.

Not finishing Anime's for sexual reasons, and crying in warm arms... Falling out of a vent and screwing up your shoulder pretty good. And not enough stars. There are never enough stars in the sky... And remembering how to end a concert. Make them want to stay...

But I can't remember this... Some odd reasons hits me across my sweaty forehead, and I can't remember how to end a concert...

Because this is the last song... Demon days. The choir has started up, and the stage is full, and I'm sure as hell singing, but I can't remember how to end this... Perhaps, just screw it. I'm here, and that should make them grateful enough...

They all seem so happy. They cheer and they cheer, and the fact that a group of people singing on a big hunk of a stage could make them all this happy... maybe it helps a little bit.

And than they get ravenous. And I mean like, ravenously exited... And everything stops. To be honest, I've snagged another bottle of Bacrdi during the show break or what not, so I'm still a bit fuzzy as to why. But the music jolts and sort of crashes as the crowd screams, and I don't mean screams, I mean like... really just _screams._

Even the rest of the performers stop. The bass, the drums, the synthesizers, they all come to this eventual speeding halt... I've got no choice but to quit with the singing, I guess. Maybe there's zombies... That might be cool, who knows...

"Err... Something wrong?" I ask quite obliviously, because obviously I'm the only one who doesn't know. "Have we released like... antelopes in the audience or something, I don't know."

"Antelopes. Tsk Tsk..." Mutters a... Mutters... This... This man who... "Sickening animals, I think. Always made me the slightest bit uncomfortable."

_Antelopes make you uncomfortable..._ I know who you are. Fuck, I knew who you were the minute you spoke your rusty voice into that microphone. I'm scared to turn... And I sweat so much, I think my forehead might be evolving some sort of spring...

And I'm... I'm scared to turn because what if you're not there? What if this is just my brain again? Lying to me? And if I'm dreaming, I couldn't take it... I won't wake up, I can't, I just... Turn around.

Every lie, every nightmare, every fear. You take it away with the casual upbringing of half your mouth. That tough guy smile. Eyes of a sunken man. El Diablo, pirched to the ground by one hand. Not much more I can do but shake, and watch as you give me no more than that small smile, and two little words, whispered away from the microphone, that only I can seem to hear.

"Found you."

Every step I run towards him is a day that I've worried, and I step all the fuck over the faces of those days because I hated them so much. He grows closer as I run, and his smile fades because he knows. He knows I'm about to make the biggest mistake yet. We hit.

All there will be to hear now, is roars. Maybe some boos, but it's mostly deep cheering, and it's the loudest I've ever heard. Maybe that's what people like better. On stage kisses. Did I forget to mention? I guess that's a big part, because my lips have hit his with one thousand intentions of staying there for the rest of forever, and he feels so dry and weak... But there's a small force of his for a moment, that tells me maybe you want this to be.

Because in this first few seconds that my arms drapes the backs of his neck, and our lips stay with each other, he doesn't push me away. Only those first few seconds... And than, the grey... The truth... He remembers. That this was only for us to know...

He jerks back. The fear in his eyes... and the anger. He's pissed. Oh boy, is he pissed. The way his eyebrows furrow, his pupils seem to grow smaller... and he step back away, farther and farther from the stage... and shakes his head. And disappears out the door. Show over.

I follow, ofcourse. I'm practically sprinting... Don't want to lose him again. I can't lose him again, I can't. Through the doors, and the noise is gone. I'm greeted by clean, friendly light. It asks me to stay with its warmth and glow, but I can't. The hallway becomes visible, but he's not there. Only angry people, who know exactly what's just happened. They think I've broken something. Think I've broken their show, their tour.

I don't care, I need to find him. Through another hallway... Can't breathe right now... Nobody in this one... Can't... breathe.. Footsteps?

_*Conk*_

_/

Noise... lights... Where are they? it smells like piss in here... And where are you, Murdoc? I know your here, I can feel your anger in my blood... Still asleep, I guess. Knocked out. I've made that a bit of a habit...

"Wake up, you filthy twit."

Okay okay, I was just going to anyways...

Well the noise and lights are surely gone. I open up my shutters, and it's definitely dark here. And quiet. Except for the echo of cars and the city, I suppose... There you are. I found you. I'm sitting against, something hard, metally... He's across from me, over there. Eying me down, and he's ready to bite...

But I can only be happy he's alive. I mean... he's... he's _alive._

"Murdoc... You're-"

"Yeah yeah, I'm okay and what not, party's over." He snarls sourly. "And my, are you a smart one. Let me ask you something 2D, what- what did you think you were accomplishing in there by that, huh? Some kind of free rights publicity stunt? Did you think- did you think-"

"Where are we?" My investigation of this area, and interruption of his rant doesn't prove to please him much.

"gasworks park." He sighs shortly. "But anyways-"

"How did we get here?"

"I threw a melodica at the back of your head and stuffed you in the car, thus, here we are, and if I find you interrupting me again, you're going to find yourself being stuffed into alot worse things than cars."

"Look, I'm sorry." My deep breath echos off the pipes. "I don't know what could have gotten into me I just... Murdoc, I was so worried, and-"

"No excuse. We're both ruined. Fucking destroyed."

"You know what..." I cock my head. Raise an eyebrow. Get serious. "I thought... I thought _you _were fucking destroyed, I mean... I thought you were dead. D'you know how many people told me you were just bound to be dead? Do you know how bad that hurts? It just... Every day was another knife in your back, and I was god damned sure of it... Than you show up on that stage and... and..."

He takes me before I say anything else. He doesn't like deep conversations, I know that. My chin lightly grasped in his hand, he quietly pulls me forward and leans in himself, for the rest of that kiss. The long one. Because you know, it _has _been so damn long... And I close my eyes, and It's everything...

Doesn't matter that we're this grimy. Just dirty people in a dirty building made of dirty pipes. But dirty people sharing a clean kiss. But he slowly departs, and keeps my chin in his hand.

"No reason to think I was dead, now... I told you I'd find you, you know that..." He whispers in a tired hoarse voice.

"I know..."

He soon switches, ofcourse. Because that's just Murdoc.

"But-" He grumbles as he roughly takes my shoulders in his hands. Drags us both to our feet. "That's no reason at all for you to go and blow everything, is it? If we're going to make this work, you're not to be exploiting things like your little act-"

"Make this work?..." Come again? Excuse? "You mean like..."

"Alright yeah, like... Like what I said before. In this same spot, I think..."

"Yeah.." I mumble with the wind. "It was this same spot, I think..."

"I get you..."

"You get me..."

And he finishes off. "We don't really get anyone else... Same rules. Same game..."

And even though the agreement has been made, we just stand. It's all I can do, I think... Is just stand... Just drowning in my own shock, and trying to breathe...

"Wow... Uhh..."

"You uh... you okay?" He awkwardly kicks his feet at the dirt matted floor. I look up and nod carefully.

"Yeah yeah, it's just... I've been waiting for this... For like three years... And now that it's here... I'm scared."

"Scared? Err.. Why?"

"Because... I just..." I nearly can't find the answer. But it comes. Clean and cold, and with the rest of my mind, it comes. "I don't want it to be over. To die again... We're so easily breakable you know... It's sort of fucked up."

He finds it hard to look at me, and I find it hard to speak. He just sort of twiddles around with his hands in his pockets... But he answers. He's wise, and he answers.

"It's our own story, I guess. The way I look at it... We can write it however the hell we want to."

And we just walk. We find each other in the night, and our hands find each other too. Again, they tangle in their own way. Not because we want to be cute, or couple like... Because I think it feels right.

"Are you gonna' tell me how you got back?" My curiosity awakes, and pokes at him. He seems so sink a little bit. Or shrink.

"I uh... I don't know. It was hard... And I don't feel like talking about it... It's a story for another day."

"Yeah... Okay... And about my little uh... mistake...We should go back now, shouldn't we? Tell them I was drunk, and that it didn't mean anything..."

"Fuck them." He answers, so hollowly. "I just got back and... I've uh... been through some less than pleasant shit... so we're not going back there yet. Not to people who are just going to yell, and be dicks. We'll make excuses tomorrow. So fuck them."

So fuck them. And tomorrow is another day where we will again lie, and say fuck them. I'll say fuck you to every last person if I have to. I don't care, he doesn't care, we don't care. Just us... They don't matter. And finders keepers, so now he's mine, and just try to take him you stupid galoot pirates, just try.

And with a last thought, I turn to him with somewhat of a fear, new in me. We stop, and he looks at me, and I just sigh, to lean my head into his shoulder and tie my arms tight around him.

"Don't disappear." I mumble into him. "Not again."

"I never really did." He lets the stale air out of his chest, and returns my favor by closing his arms around me too.

And maybe this world can sometimes be good. Because there can be such a situation, where two dirty men in a dirty building can be quietly happier than the rest of the clean folks in their clean buildings. But I wouldn't rather be one of them. And they couldn't make me... Let them try, let them try...

**AN: Again, sorry for being late! I've had like, super fever and it's totally killing me. Blah. But I got this, so cool :)**

**Oh hey, what did you think? Don't forget to tell me, all you :)**

**And thanks so much for reading!**


	54. 54: Home, and The Thought of Cars

**Chapter 54: Home, and The Thought of Cars**

**AN: My wifi is a dick :P It's being weird, so thats why updates are slow. Thanks so much more waiting :)**

I think of cars.

And this simple taste of that thought to be fed to any bystander, would be normal.

Oh that lad over there with the blue hair, he's only thinking bout' cars. Where to drive them. Who to drive them with. A simple thought, that to the same average bystander who apparently now, has managed some sort of mind reading ability, cannot be cracked much further open.

_Oh_ it can. Just thinking about things when you're like me, can become so much more. Thinking about cars. Where to drive them. Who to drive them with. Cause if you do in fact, decide to go on ahead and bust that thought open a bit further,it will be deeper. Like today.

I think of cars.

Where we'll go next with them, after all this tour stuff, and if it's even possible to drive back to plastic beach and pack up our stuff, or even just stick around. I think about it, and it's most definitley not possible. You can't just up and decide to drive over blank ocean. Not so unless Murdoc knows where the Stylo is, but I don't much feel like asking...

And than this thinks something else up, that last sentence. I think of cars, and driving them with Murdoc. And I think of where he's happened to have acquired this particular car. You know, the one we're actually, currently riding in. He's just readable enough though, that I can already touch and hold the answer without even asking.

_Borrowed it_ It will most likely be. Just for a laugh though, I ask him anyways.

"Where'd you get this car?" I ask, about this box like majesty. Jeep, maybe ford. Year unknown. Moon shade blue. One missing headlight.

He narrows one of his. Headlights, I mean, by which I mean eyes. But he narrows one, and twists his mouth to the side and makes like he's going to spit. But just answers.

"Er... Borrowed. From a dear,_ dear _friend of mine, who was a sucker who should have kept his eyes open."

I was close enough, and I chuckle lightly to myself because of it.

"It's not funny." He retorts harmlessly. "You turn your head too far away, you're going to get your car swiped right out from under your nose-"

"And nobody's going to feel sorry." I nod my head to his drawl toned little half poem. "You know, I think I've heard this one before. You should work on your speeches and sayings and things."

"Yeah, I'll work on you." His mumbling breaks off in a quiet chuckle. And I can't actually tell if that was supposed to be something sexual or not, but I'll assume so, because most everything with him falls under the sexual section of life.

Quicker, much more so than I'd expected, it's become quite hush in here. I'd like for him to talk again. Anything. Say anything. I'd like for me to talk again to, than again, I don't have much to say, except for _thanks for not shooting me with a harpoon gun because of last night._

"It's too quiet." I submit my complaint with an exhale, and don't pay the time to watch for his reaction.

"I hate that." He cooly states, and drums his pencil-like fingers idly on the steering wheel. "And not the face that its quiet. The fact that we find it necessary to yack about bullshit in order to feel comfortable.

"You're quoting something here." I lift my finger and point out his little mystery. "And I'm not one hundred percent sure what it is yet, but I'm onto you."

"I'm quoting nothing but my own mind, boy."

"Like hell!" I just shake my head and laugh and I see right through his paper lies. "I've heard it before, I just need to remember where from."

"Well good luck with that. I'm just smart and wise enough that normal things I say sound like quotes, so good luck."

It rolls back again, that silence. It's not particularly bad though. Now that I think about it, and he's said it and all, I don't feel uncomfortable. I don't. Maybe I'm just still a little tired, or still a little hung over, but all I sort of want to do is sit and watch the road but sleep at the very same time. Just be a ghost. A happy one, though.

"You know that's when they say you've found someone good." He pipes up _carefully_, and I know why. So not to imply too much. To keep being _Murdoc. _"When you can just sit there in complete silence for a few hours and both just _shut_ the _fuck_ up."

For a minute I believe him. More like a few seconds, actually.

"_Pulp Fiction_!" I scoff loudly. "You didn't make that up, it was _Pulp Fiction, _you dillhole."

The little skeeve just shrugs it off with a half of a chuckle. "Maybe so. It's true though."

"Whats true, that you're a dillhole, or that you steal movie quotes from _Pulp Fiction_?"

"Oh never mind." He tunes me away with a quick twist of the radio knob. And I don't know if a few radio socialites yapping it up about the latest "_deets" on the stars _and "_The celebrity chit" _is better than talking, but again, I haven't much of anything to say.

But thats what our ears are served, and for one reason or another, neither of us say anything about it, or complain, or make to change the radios. Just let our brains soak up the grease of the pop culture world.

_"I personally don't think Kim's got anything to worry about. That booty'll protect her from whatever comes flying her way."_

Come on? Is this really what people talk about these days? My head collapses to my shoulder in a loss of my faith in this world. Seattle radio stations. Hmph.

_"And as for Juicier news, all hell and heaven broke loose last night in Key arena when Gorillaz front man "2D", decided to put up a fiery display, and I'm not talking about pyrotechnics"_

I think we both sort of had miniature aneurysms roll through our heads when that was said. Either way, I know I did, and just hearing the mention of my actions sort of puts me to shame. Like I just don't even want to look at him... But I need to know that he heard that too. Or maybe I need the comfort of knowing his reaction... But I turn and his reaction doesn't differ much.

Widened eyes that quietly cut me.

_What do we do _They ask me. And in this moment, for the smallest of reasons available, we are scared. More so than we've been in a long time.

"Turn it up." He quietly commands, and I follow. The faceless people living in the radio speak up.

_"Bassist Murdoc Niccals was greeted from his mysterious absence with a desperate attempt at a passionate lip lock from the poor, obviously wasted 2D, but did 2D get what he wanted? Oh hell no. He was apparently like, rejected, or pushed away."_

Pain. Just a light sting-burn from under the fingernails that I gnaw so ravenously at. So nervously. I just listen on. Afraid of looking at Murdoc again.

_"Man, I don't know..." _A youngish sounding male peeps out, almost lazily. _"The video's already up on our site, and Murdoc looked pretty into it for the first couple seconds until I guess, he realized just what was going on. Than he was just like "aw hell no."_

_"Into it? You mean like- you think he liked it?"_

_"Yeah, maybe. I mean if I was gay I might go for 2D, he's got the pretty boy glimmer, that charm. Also a really nice ass, but that's just my opinion."_

_"Marcus!"_

I end it. I end it, and I end it now, by quickly jabbing at the off button. These hip young voices are instantly replaced with the hum of window blocked freeway, and the stillness of just what to say. He swallows some invisible bravery, and starts.

"Well..." He casually chirps. "They like your butt, Tuss."

"Jesus..." But I can't even laugh. Only sink my head sleepily into a weak hand and mope. "I fucked us. I fucked us so hard..."

"Well, yeah..." He slowly drags. "But they like your butt."

"I'd laugh if I didn't have to throw up."

"Oh, come on." He tries. It's no use. The cold window to my forehead almost helps, and seeing nothing but concrete racing next to us almost takes my mind away. But, not.

"They'll know." I unpurse my cold lips and lightly shake my chin. "The smart ones will... What do we say to that? No? It's just a lie? I wasn't even thinking, and now look at this. We're fucked. Fucked, fucked, fucked, fucked."

"Mm... not neccesarily." He protests, but his voice lacks enthusiasm. "Won't be that hard to quell. You get another fake girlfriend, we tell the media you were all twanged up on PCB. Problem well, quelled."

"You quell an alien invasion, or a flesh eating death preserving disease outbreak." I moan in negativity. "You don't _"quell" _the rest of the world eating away at your truths."

"Sure you do."

"Sure you _don't_." Fire back. Critical hit?

"2D..."

"Meh." I mumble back, because first my battle ship reference didn't work, and now he's trying to pry me open, which leaves me with little to nothing to say...

"Stuart, you're getting bout' ready to piss me off. Hey, you don't think I think this fucking blows? Course' it does, but bitching about it ain't going to do shit, so all we can do is... All we can do is wait for this to blow over."

He acts it easy. Like the snap of his magic fingers will douse the fire in the waters of peace, and all will be well. It doesn't work like that.

"It doesn't work like that..." The thoughts in my head escape through this stupid hole in my face.

"And why not?" He asks them. They answer.

"Because... So lets say...When I think of cars..." So I begin. "Thats just a simple thought... But with me, and what we've got going here... There's so much more behind it. Where I'm going. Who I'm driving those cars with... And, it's you, I guess. That was just for me to know, but what now? If other people know? Than I'm finished... They'll... They'll eat me alive."

But he takes it so lightly. Just raises an eyebrow and eyes me with caution. "Cars? Wait- what? I don't think I understood that much, to be honest... Driving with, thinking of... what?"

"Nevermind..." I pick up my pieces and turn away again. Broke the conversation. Just a loser...

"Hey... Who's name does it say on your back?" Asks the newly confusion recovered Murdoc.

"Someone wrote their name on my back?" Scoundrels... I tug at the back of my shirt as if to pull it around and inspect it, until the memory of little pink scratches dancing in salty pain on the top of my back, is pulled up. The name in my skin. Still there, I think. Sort of why I have to be careful about where I take my shirt off now.

"Oh... Yours." I answer with caution. Wonder where he's going with this...

"And, do you think I would have carved my name in your back with my fingernails, and only my fingernails, If I intended to leave you and your problems in the dirt?"

"No..." I answer in the voice of a child obeying. "But what does that have to do with anything..."

"What that has to do with, is that you don't need to be twiddling your fingers about people "_eating you alive_" because of a stupid mistake you made onstage. I wouldn't let it happen..."

"Oh..." And I'm not going to lie here, I get a little bit warm in the cheeks, and my heart balloons, and I maybe brighten up to a summerburnt red. "Err... Thank you?"

"Yeah, uh..." He nods with unlikely awkwardness. "You don't need to worry. I'll uh... I'll take care of you."

_And I, you, Murdoc._

I hope he knows this, because I'm afraid to say it. Afraid he'll laugh. Look at him over there. Look at him. It's okay, steal a glance, he won't notice. Not a crack hint of a smile on the pavement that is his hardened face. Narrowed eyes, but there is light. Even if you can't see it, it's there.

I soon, break my own plastic bubble of plastic happiness, and cock my head in nerve. "Where will we go?"

"Back to the hotel. Managers will find us and tell us to pack, I suppose."

"Well... no..." I twist up my mouth and I look for the ways to say this. "But I mean... Us? Where will _we _go? After the tour, I mean... Where do we belong?"

A small shrug. Barely anything but a sneeze or spasm of his shoulders, but he shrugs.

"Wherever we want to belong."

So, together. That's what that meant, I think. That he ain't going to just up and leave me when this tour is done with. That's what I was afraid of, but I don't really know why. It's a little white fear, but it's so big and dark, and it's always there. That I'll just wake up one day and turn around to be alone. The last gorilla in a damn lonley jungle.

This jungle really can be _so lonely._

But we belong to ourselves, and that is enough. And wherever Russel and Noodle are, whether they're breathing or not, they belong here too, and our Jungle will always be open. Always waiting.

As a last thought, or maybe the first really driven thought of this dead seattle morning, he nudges me. Hard. Like almost a passionate punch to the arm. But for him, it's a kiss. It's a loving punch, a love letter spelled out in minor, minor assault. Possibly one of his last ways of showing the emotion he's been incapable of for so long.

"It'll be okay. We'll find something, or somewhere..." His words are pale and flush with insecurity. Doesn't trust himself, and he's worried. So with those few seconds given, I know he's just as lost in this jungle as I am. Just as alone. Just as tired of fighting. So tired, tired, tired...

"Yeah, bud." I say, almost comfortingly. "I know we will."

So we drive, drive, drive away. And I still think of cars, and where to drive them. Who to drive them with... But I know. This time, I know.

_/

The more I sat and thought with myself, the more time became poetry.

The more life became one big fat ugly poem, with bad wording, and terribly thought out stanzas. And when you hit a rocky part, like one that's hard to read or sound out, it will take your whole god damned life to read it.

Listen, I'm not good at analogies, so I'm just going to smooth this one out, and save a monstrous headache from any poor soul who might try to figure out whatever the hell I've just said. So here it is:

The worse things get, the longer it takes to end. No, really. Ever had anyone try to tell you _it will all be over soon?_ Well I'd be ready to bet the rest of my teeth that the people who say that don't have a third of the world accusing them of being a cum hungry closet homosexual.

And you know what's even worse? What really stings? When you actually sort of _are_ a closet homosexual, spare cum hungry. No, no, no, forget that. I mean I'm not gay. I mean, sure I'm kind of sort of a little bit... dating a person who just so happens to fall under the same gender category. But I've thought this over a good thirty and a half times, and I conclude that It's just him. No other men. I mean, you can't really help falling in love.

And falling hard... Like, a lot of people will describe it as being delicately dropped so sweetly down into a warm, fuzzy ocean, and just letting it hug you and kiss you, and yada-yada, I call bullshit, and he picks up.

It's more like with me, sure I fell. I just fell flat on my face into a pit of sharply boned monkey skeletons and skinning knives laced with lemon juice and salt. And than someone just like, closed this hatch over my head and left me in there. Sometimes I think it's not fair. That no one asked me if I wanted to be here or not. If I wanted this.

Than I remember, or I actually just think up all by myself... That in this sharp and barren pit with Murdoc, I'm the happiest I've been in years. Skinning knives and all.

"Stop thinking too hard." Zap. It's just like he points out his finger and jolts out some supernatural power all over me to wake me from my inner self, who won't leave me alone lately.

"How do you know I'm thinking too hard?" This interests me actually, so I bring my head up from where it's been resting on the side of the couch.

"I thought I smelled something burning. Must just have been the gears in your head trying to turn, or something." I twist my mouth into an annoyed from to match furrowed eyebrows, while he proves himself nimble by hopping over the back of this couch to join me where I sit.

"Aren't you supposed to be packing, or something?" I ask, and am given a shrug.

"Who said?"

"You did." I scoff harmlessly. "When we got back here last night, and you told me to pack or be packed. I don't even get what that means, but I have my stuff together, so when are we leaving?"

So we've gotten back last night, and I have to say, it's only gotten smellier since we left. Maybe the island melted a bit, I don't know, but I want to get the fuck off of this land mass of shit and plastic before my opportunitie is gone. Murdoc however, seems halfway reluctant.

"Umm... soon, you know?" He scratches his head as a form of social blocking. A very Murdoc-ish form of social blocking. "Still got things to pack, and uh... You, what- what about you, don't you need to get your things all boxed up and what not?"

Maybe he's trying to be cute, or stall, but his fingers become legs, and they walk delicately up the top of my spine, and tickle their feet across my neck. I nearly brush them away out of lack of patience before just gushing on the inside.

"No, I... heheh..." My walls fall down as those hands undergo a quick change of mind, and change courses to sneak their way under the bottom of my loosely fit shirt, and just sneak their way up my spine like sweet little spiders. Groping, and scratching, and doing things that spiders don't actually do, so my analogy falls through again.

"I uhmm..ehem." I quickly cough. "Been uh.. packing since we got here yesterday night, so I've got everything I want to... keep."

I just giggle at the warm touch of his skilled fingers on my skin, and I quiver. And I mean not because of fear, or disgust, but I mean because he's like hit this switch, and he knows exactly where the switches are, and exactly how to trigger them. So he hits this one, generally because he can, and my cock begins to beat and throb nervously, racing to beat every touch to the finish line.

This became without a warrant or paper, a silent war. Because he knows I want something now. He knows I need something. And hell, he knows I'll shut up about leaving if I get that something, but I don't want to shut up about leaving because I hate it here, and I love him, but I hate it here, and I...

"Murdoc." I swallow hard, and my spit hits my throat like oversized gravel as I force it down. "I uh... Listen, I think-"

"Don't think." I hear him tell. With not a trace of question in his voice. A command. This becomes completely his gig, as he decides by himself and no one else, that he wants the shirt gone. Typical Murdoc. The less clothing, the more fun. I mean, I don't protest though. All I can do is sweat, and let my toes curl into the palms of my feet as he takes my shirt from the base and slides it up, away from sun and nerve educed sweat that want it to remain there. It doesn't, and I lift my arms as he tugs it off and drapes it blindly over the side of the couch.

Without so much as a joke or another word, his lips meet my sharp shoulder, and they get to work. Everything gets to work, in fact. Even with a mouthful of my skin, he somehow manages to keep up with the groping, and tease scratching of my lower back, switching and sliding from lower to upper.

I just groan, and there are two reasons. One, because I've lost this one, and two, because my groin is beating almost like, in fear. Like it's seen a , I typically can't control my vocals when that goes down. Everything is so_ warm_. His tongue, and the hot intensity of an unknown vibration in my stomach. And I'm so close to falling at his advances and melting right down like ice in his hot palms. And those hands...

I know now, what it's like to be that bass in those crazy fingers. Play me, play me.

But you know, this is actually quite strange. This right here, the fact I'm about to give, is I swear on my life, one hundred percent true. Murdoc hasn't really been as into sex much lately. Now now, don't get me wrong. He still jumps my dry bones every other hour, because his demand is high, and I've got to supply to keep him happy I guess, and that's fine. But back at Kong when we were doing this, it was every day. Sometimes two or three times in one day, I kid you not. And now, we actually go days without.

And it's honestly the weirdest thing. Like, he isn't on me about it as much, I guess? It kind of worries me... And forces me to ask... Why now? What is it about now that's special or good or whatever the hell matters? Because he doesn't want to pack?

Distraction. And oh man, that hit me like a cinderblock to the balls. This is distraction. Because he doesn't want to go.

"Alright, alright, alright." I end this short story quickly, as much as it sexually frustrates me. I scoot away and politely push on his shoulders to remove him. "That's enough of that, I know what you're doing blud."

"Being a good man and pleasuring _you._ It's your loss."

"No, no, no." I shake my head at his minor league excuses. "You don't want to pack, or leave for that matter, so you're distracting me."

"Congratulations agent dickface, you've solved the case." He deadpans. Harmless. He's not really mad, just laying himself back, and kicking his feet back up to the coffee table.

"Okay fine." I mumble out my white flag and give in while pulling my shirt back over my head. "You don't want to pack? I'll do it for you."

Yeah. Ugh. Sigh. Groan. I didn't want to sink _that _low, but I'll be _that_ kind of partner if he's going to be this way.

"Naw, it's fine." He lazily snaps away with his fingers. "I'll make Cyborg do it. Later."

"I'm offering to do it, I dunno', why don't I just do it now? The sooner we get out of here, the better."

By now, I've gotten up, and I'm just standing in the doorway while he gets lazier as the seconds pass. I don't even think he sees me here anymore. But I catch his eye, and it catches the window. He's looking out there, and he's wishing for something. I can see it. I can't see what he's wishing for, but I can see him wishing, and it's the saddest thing I've seen in a long time. He wants to stay.

"Murdoc?" I call softly.

"Yeah, what?"

Hesitation... Massive hesitation. But a bit of strength finds me.

"Why don't you want to leave?" I ask, and I ask it like a little kid. A pouty little, concerned kid that wants to know things.

He turns his chin quietly upward from his sit to face me.

"I never said that." He fires his defense. "I just don't want to uh... You know, what does it matter anyways? I'm just not up to leaving quite yet."

I'm losing this, and I'm losing by at least five, if there is in fact a scoreboard. My next move: Cocking my head and crossing my arms. And damn, I can just feel myself looking like the most womanly tool in the middle of the ocean, but I keep up anyways.

"Can I ask why not?" I ask. A question inside a question.

His tongue plays nervously within his cheek, and I can see it move through skin. A nervous habit. And it's kind of a little bit cute. How he just roughly snaps those dirty twig fingers, and tongues his cheek. Yeah, kind of... attractive.

"Because uhh..." His eyes flicker like broken lights, indecisive, on and off, before they stop and settle into an annoyed neutral. He looks at me with hard eyes.

"Cause' you know what, I don't have to explain myself. Maybe I'm not so much as eager as you to get out of here. I did spend a fortune of my time getting this place together, so you know what, maybe I don't want to leave."

I won't get mad. I promised myself, and secretly him that I won't get pissed unless it's absolutely necessary.

"I don't really see why you _want_ to be here, man." I shrug. He just looks at me funny. "I mean, in every interview you talked about how terrible it was here. You remember? Your whole little gig about it being a falsely portrayed paradise?"

"A painted whore." He nods in agreement. So why isn't he agreeing with me?

"Okay yeah. So you agree. Than why do you still want to be here? If you're looking for disgusting abandoned islands to live on, I hear Hashima Island is very nice this time of year." I joke with him. He doesn't laugh. Just narrows one of his eyes, thin and sharp enough to cut me.

"We're here, aren't we?" He points out, almost without question. "That's not very abandoned, now is it?"

I catch his game with shame shaken hands. I get it now. How didn't I get it before? I never thought of myself as well... selfish. But here I am, and thinking only of my own needs. Not even us. Not once did I think that...

"You want to stay because of us?"

His eyes roll around like little loose bowling balls as he makes his stand from the couch. "Well you don't have to make everything sound so flowery and pink, but sure."

And this scary moment passes by where I don't know _what_ to do. I should talk. It's my turn to talk, but what is there to say?

"Murdoc..." I begin as the shiver in my spine begins to itch. "That's... sweet... But I'm not gonna' swoon your name and fall passionately into your arms. I want to know why... Why you think this would be good for... us?"

"You could stay..." He repeats his position, with clean eyes that beg me but push me over onto my arse all at the same time. "And I mean... How much easier would that be? Think about it..."

So I do. I think about it for a long, hard three seconds before he speaks again.

"Nobody would bother us." He whispers loudly. "And I... I wouldn't let anyone hurt you. You asked me a while ago, where we belonged? Maybe we belong here, if we want to."

We. I like the word. It means that he's not just the pill I take every morning, and I'm not a cigarette in his fingertips. We're not just used and spit away. We mean something.

"Do you want to belong here?" I ask softly. And you'd think that after such a sweet little tea cake of a conversation, he'd be taking my arms in his, and rocking me delicately in the sun set. Watching the world melt in me, and mold into something of our own. Being utterly perfect.

But that's not us. I don't care who says that it should be, cause' its not. He's so distant. I want him to be the heart in my chest, but he only wants to be a thorn in my arse, because it still means he's there, just less.

We cuddled one though, I swear.

Just scared to feel. And I am too, but we're learning, and I think every day we get a little braver, and become a little bit less afraid of each other. A little bit more ready.

"Murdoc, do you want to belong here?" I repeat steadily. He gets closer. Inches away. I can nearly feel his breath on my face, and yet he still seems distant.

"I want to be... wherever we can wake up in the morning without worrying about all the snot brained twits that don't matter... I want to be where you're not so worried all the time..." His voice stays hard. Cause' I know, and he knows that its so hard to be tough when you're six feet deep in a thorny pit of stinging love.

And it hurts so bad I think, because it's true. Because you don't know until you _know..._

What its like to be called a faggot on street corners... What its like to be pestered and mocked and or congratulated every day of your life by people you don't even know, just for playing out your life the only way you want to. And even still, I deny. I deny everything.

"So lets belong." He moves, as close as we're going to get. Noses nearly poking. His arms around my torso, and our heads somewhere up in the clouds.

"Well, I-I mean..." I sputter my whisperings. "Only if you're serious, I uh... Guess we could stay here. For a while..."

The deal is sealed, and enveloped, and ready to go. It always was, but it became official when I buried my nose into his neck and told him we could stay.. for a while. And I'm still here, with my nose so deep into his deep musk. And I'll tell you, there's something here... Not magical, or mystical, or anything fruity like that.

But I look up... And I swear on all of my hopes and dreams, that I was meant to be here. And _here _is anywhere, with you.

He slowly, slowly, quietly smiles. Translucent. Barely there, but it is. A smile.

We would have kissed, too. Would have kissed, and given even more hickeys, and shagged on the couch to fall asleep not in each others arms, but in each others minds, and we never would have returned from those minds.

But we don't kiss. We don't kiss, we don't shag, we don't sleep in minds, because there is this noise. I kid you not, more powerful than the thunder of that whale rising above cracking tides, but somehow quieter. It's a crashed wave. A spurt of mad water breaking the sky wide open. And I'm utterly convinced that If I look out that window, the sky will have broken into a peice of every year we've been here, in the world.

Like a bomb...

Only more, and less powerful. We of course break away, and flee to the window. I think at first, that another island is emerging from the ocean, and that freaks me the fuck out. That's what it looks like anyways, as we gape in awe at this great brown inhuman mound, slowly rising higher and higher up, until its grown ears.

You read that right. EARS.

I might die right here. Just out of shock. Maybe I'm in a rape victim coma, or something.

And I believe it too.

Right up until there are fingers. A small white bird of a hand, and it waves too. It waves, and it's matched up to something. The rest of a body. An empty skeleton only, in a loose dress and a porclean like mask. All I see.

And how I didn't first catch this ghost, alive under the sun. I don't know.

I'm... I'm crying now. I don't even know how, but I'm not ashamed. Too... too happy to be proud of you, for no reason at all. So proud of you... You down there. Being swallowed in th sun.

Waving. Hello. And I hear you. You don't speak as the man or island beneath you grows, but you speak to me. I can hear you in my head.

_Well hi._

_ I'm alive. You didn't trust me, did you? Here I am... Here I am, here I am... Wow, you've grown old. You're shaking. I can see you up there, shaking. It's okay. It's okay. What are you waiting for? What? Come see me. Come see us. Here I am. We're home. We're finally home._

**AN: Wow, I suck at updating quick :P Thank you YET AGAIN for being patient :) **

**Don't forget to tell me your opinions and such :)**

**Thanks!**


	55. 55: Ballerina Monkey Doll

**Chapter 55: Ballerina Monkey Doll**

**AN: Err. Sorry AGAIN for being lame and not getting things in on time. Am I the only one that finals are just like, completely kicking my ass? Welp, thanks for being here, and go ahead! :)**

Something has saved us.

Half of a miracle, and it was always here, I think. Just hidden so far deep beneath the sun that wouldn't _really_ rise until today. And whatever this grace is, it makes me run. Damn right, it makes me sprint. Not a second after I'm handed this gift, do my feet nearly jump from my ankles and take themselves away.

But my moment freezes. He takes me by the back of my shirt, and spins me back around to face him, and never more am I aware of this: he's scared.

Nervous. Worried. Scared. I see it in his window eyes, and the way his eyebrows furrow so low, trying to hide his fear.

"Wait." He whispers to me.

"Wait for what?" I shake. Barley even talk. "We- they- Murdoc... They're back. We were- we were wrong, they're _okay."_

"Yeah, I know they are." He tries to smile. Keyword here, tries. "But... What the hell are we going to do?"

It really is just rotten, how one minute your world can be so fixed, and not a moment later it cracks a little bit again. The smile I was gifted quietly burrows back into a frown.

"Oh..."

"Yeah... Oh."

There isn't time for promises and the creation of secrets, as much as I'd like that time. Because while we sit and stare into each others blank faces, they're waiting out there. I think they've been waiting for a few years too long in the first place.

"Do we..." I gently bargain with my thoughts, before giving them to him. "Do we like... tell them?"

"What?" I lose. He almost steps back in something like cold fear. "No! I mean, not that I... Not that I don't think... Listen, just no, okay?"

Maybe it's embarrassment, or shame, or I don't know what, but I sink a little bit inside...

"Erm... I'm not set on telling them, or anything, but why not?"

"Because... Fuck, I don't know, Tuss..." He sighs, deep and clean and tired.

"I mean, it's not like they're going to think any less of us..." I give a small shrug. "Muds, they're... they're _family."_

"And have you told your _real_ family about this?"

_If Mum counts... But you don't need to know that, do you? Ofcourse not._

"Uhh, no." I kind of sort of lie. But I guess I give him the answer he wants.

"Well, there you go." He says. "It might be better for everyone if we just... keep on keeping this concealed... Between us... Why would we need anyone else to know, anyways?"

"Because in all truth and real honesty, it'd be easy." I breathe. "To just let it all break open, and deal with the consequences? I'm tired of acting, putting on a show for everyone else... You can't really blame me for wanting to be real."

He blows his stress out with an even deeper and cleaner sigh, and pats my back to gesture me away from the window, where we could still possibly be seen.

"Maybe someday." He kicks his feet at the ground, and twiddles one hand. One of my hands. He seems reluctant to share something. Just pets my hand with a rough skinned thumb .

"Maybe someday..." And our faces grow closer as he speaks. "We could come clean with ourselves, and the rest of the world... Maybe, that is. But for now, they're not ready. We're not ready. All we'd be doing is wrecking ourselves, and we can be part of our own solution, or part of our own problem..."

"Murdoc, I think you're taking this a little too seriously..."

"Part of the problem, there you go." He scoffs harmlessly. "So for right now... Let's just go pick up our items, okay?"

"By items, you mean..."

"Russ and Noodle, yeah." He nods his chin, and I laugh. Not only at that, but because he wants to be this big masculine block of toughness drizzled in alpha male, but if you want to get physical, and not in the way you may be thinking... He stands a good few inches beneath my height.

And he can still kick my arse when he wants to.

"Alright..." I smile for him, half due to his unfortunate height, and half because I really don't know. Because they're back, I guess. We're a broken, half mental, sick twisted home again, and it feels good. "You ready to kick life in the balls and take back our people?"

"I'll kick _you_ in the balls. That is, in fact, if you have any."

And you want to know what came with those words? My chin in his hands. A pucker of his sour speaking lips to the top of my head. A kiss to the forehead. And after that? A rough punch to the shoulder that nearly blows me backward.

And the mixture of these two attitudes is the best damn thing that I will ever have the pleasure of experiencing.

"Alright you barmy sack of twit. Lets get gone."

So I, the _barmy sack of twit_, follow him the _giant living dirty douchebag._ And I follow by his side as we travel with shaken hearts to the lift. Ready hearts. Crazy hearts, and I know mine is ready to run, run, run forever and take everything it will hold and never let go, because if I do, it might leave again.

And you know what? It's all the same. The door closes, and guess who we turn into.

Nobody. I'm Stuart, and I'm 2D. He's Murdoc, and he's Muds. And as this compartment sinks us beneath the ground, we are, as we have perhaps always been.

It takes a while, this does. The lift, I mean. It always does. It's as old as it is young, and the joints are rusty, and the widgets are slow, but so are we, so it's okay. And it's not awkward. You'd think it would be, but we're so happy, that that happiness fills the air for us, and the silence is comfortable, just like he's said it would be.

It's even more so comfortable when he parts that silence. Not breaks it. Breaking the silence is for people who are uncomfortable.

"Hey uh..." But he still speaks like a shy child, as he searches for something or itches, at the top of his head, and bumps my hand with his. Bumps them together.

"I uhmm... I like you." He nods, and purses his lips as soon as the words are given. "I uh... I like you a lot."

Childlike, some would think that. But those other _somes_ don't know how hard the word "_love"_ is for him to say. Why it's so easy for me, I don't know. Maybe sometimes it's not. But his gesture is good, and clear, and pasted together with the sincerity he wants to have, so I take it with a nod of the chin and a smile to sweeten the mood.

A hand to his shoulder. For comfort.

"I like you too. A lot." The kiss would be here when I speak, if the level we're seeking wasn't. There's that ding, and I don't really hate it anymore. It sounds almost nice. We leave it in a slow motion exit, only the slow motion is deprived by the lack of special effects around here.

And even though the moment is so perfectly paired with slow motion, this all goes so fast. This dirt room of a hallway. This dirt room of our lives, passing before our brains, because our eyes only watch as the dank underbelly of this hunk of plastic fades away to be stolen by the sun, and the beach, and the warmth, and the sky, and the sky, and the miles of endless blue sky that are almost absorbed by a big brown mound of everything enormous.

And oh, does that mountain smile as we close the door behind us, and oh do his eyebrows rise. Because his smile is that which has evolved from fear, and pain, and worry. This is a smile of releif. So much beautiful relief.

I've waited for this day in dreams, and I have never even had the pleasure of dreaming of it. I'd only wait. Wait on a stool or a bench, or a rock, for the day that my little girl with the tiny little monkey hands, and the crooked toothed smile, and the heart and brain with the power to blow us all down in one single beat.

There are no monkey hands and monkey feet. No crooked teeth, or mussed clumps of night sky hair. No little thumbtip nose, or button eyes...

But they are there. They're in there, inside that windup ballerina with the parchment coloured skin, and legs and arms that stretch like white smoke rockets into the sky. She's eaten by dirty, sorry cloth, and a dirtier yet mask with painted eyes and painted emotions.

But you are you. You over there, are my little girl, and you are our little girl, and you go ahead and keep that ballerina doll form, because we will love you forever, and ever, until the sky and the grass cave into each other, no matter what you could ever be. Our monkey Ballerina Doll.

How I can't mannage to say any of this I will never know. I can only let my eyes leak, and watch you with an open mouth, and shake, and shake, and shake... And run. We both do, me and Murdoc. But he'll never run as fast as me, because I run wild and wild and more free than I promise you I will ever run.

Noodle. There, on the shore of plastic and rubber and bottles. Posing in the sky, and it's pink like the heavens are bleeding.

Hit. Collide. You are okay, and you're here in my arms, our little girl. Yeah, with the half of a second I am given to run, you are given back to us, and my arms fold you so hard, because you might float away again.

"Oh my god." Is all I can say. All I can say at all. "_Oh my god, Oh my god."_

You looked so beautiful under the sun. So I didn't notice how broken you were. I didn't think it possible, but you cry harder than me. Your eyes touch my shoulder, freed from the mask that you hold, and they silently weep, and weep, and weep, and you have grown_ so big_...

I don't even ask why Russel is the size of Krakatoa's great grandfather. But I want to hug him to, cause' dammit Russel, I love you too, and I know you love us just as much.

"I'm going to kill you." She sniffles in this voice. This new... This... I don't know what it is, but she uses it. "I'm going to kill you both. You don't think I did, but I saw that putridity ridden robot, and I'm going to kill you both for building it."

She sob talks, and she laughs, and the sound of it is the music to the tears that we've all shed for her.

"Toochi, I love you." She whispers. "Even if you do currently smell like jellyfish, I love you, and- and-... I- I missed your creaky voice, and- and you guys built that robot, so I thought... I thought..."

"It's Murdoc's fault." I chuckle through my own grateful tears as I hold her. "I objected, you know... And that's not even the worse... God, you wouldn't believe any of this."

Some kind of thunder, joins us. But it's Russel, and it's just him talking. "I think maybe we would..."

Because obviously, they've seen worse. Noodle is a broken piece of fine china, and Russel has swallowed the moon, apparently. But I believe all of this because I have to, and because iI want to.

"Well I mean, it's not my fault, you know..." The excitement hides in that rusty voice behind us. We break away, and Noodle dries her eyes to watch Murdoc stand all high and mighty, wearing his attitude heavily on his sleeve.

"I had to do something about it. Missing drummer, missing guitar player, a singer with the wits of a new born goldfish. Can't blame a guy..."

She swallows hard and heaves back her sobs with newly clenched fists. And she fixates the fire in her emerald and fear stained eyes, that quickly evaporate her sorrow and fade to anger.

"This is your fault." She shivers and jerks a pointed finger towards him, which quivers the small weight that supports her. "Don't- don't act so coy and p-perfectly balanced over there, because if you weren't such a... such a stupid...I-idiot risk taker, we wouldn't be here, and YOU WOULDN'T have HAD to BUILD... A ROBOT."

Her white glass cheeks are no longer white, but rage bleeding red, and she quivers with hate, and anger, and fear, and the kind of fire burning in her chest that could burn us all down with the simple one click decision in her mind.

She doesn't. She doesn't burn us down, I mean. How can you burn someone down when you're already so burned down yourself. I watch the yelling and pointing and blaming sink past her feet and die into the sand as she gives away and crashes into him like I know she's wanted to for a good three years.

He flinches and steps an inch or two back when her arms take around his neck, and she just melts to a warm body in his arms.

"But I still rememeber the day you taught me to drive." Her wind in the trees voice quakes.

And what's sweeter, is she laughs as she cries. "And when you kicked that man in the teeth for trying to pick me up at some burger shack. And when you-you took me training bra shopping at Macy's when I turned thirteen-"

"Okay." He grunts as his eyebrows sink. "That's enough I think, I'm a good guy, I get it."

And I love you too, Murdoc. S-so much...Even if- Even if you did forget about me for a chunk of talking machinery."

And it's such a sight, to watch his guard lay down as the disgust leaves his face, and as only a secret to himself, he smiles for her and holds her close as she needs to be held so bad.

"Now now, hey there..." He gently consoles. Like a frightened father. "I can pretty much guarantee that not a second passed where you weren't roaming our thoughts like a bad stench."

She socks him one in the back, but let go of him she won't. She holds on, and they sway in the air of this moment like something that was dead for so long,and only now alive. Because that's what we are, isn't it. Me. Noodle. Murdoc.

And even Russel, who I'm seriously considering climbing to bro hug his nose or ear, or something. This man, as big as the sky, and a heart so much bigger. I turn to let our eyes meet again, and all he needs to say comes packed into one half moon smile, perhaps as big as half the moon.

"Hey bud." And with that, this is our hug. My words seem to be enough of a hug to fill his heart, because he smiles even wider.

"Hey man." His chuckle is a roar in the sky. "And you're gonna' have to loud up, or speak up, cause' if you haven't really noticed yet, it's gonna' be hard to hear you."

"We missed you, Russ." I shout in what would be a whisper if he could hear. "And if you don't mind me poking my nose round' your business, can I ask why you seem to have gained a good, I don't know, five or so pounds?"

He laughs first, and it's like this warm deep laugh that sends the birds around us packing. "Circumstances. All I'm gonna' say, D."

"Fine by me."

And when I turn again, Murdoc has apparently cleared Noodle from clinging to his neck, and she turns. Only now does the purple catch me.

That purple under her eye. That burn. That bruise, whatever it is. This mess of pink and purple under a beautiful green bead. A violent stain, and it shrinks my smile. What has happened to you? Who did this? What did this? Why I swear I'll... I'll...

Oh... But she looks so happy. So rescued from grief. Where there was maybe so much fear and anguish before, there is something beautiful. Something, something wonderful.

We know.

Me, and Murdoc. We both know, and I see this because we're divided for a moment as Russ and Noodle jabber, and she cries and laughs with him in the excitement of their journeys success.

And in the small moment, where Murdoc and I are left alone to dwell in each others eyes, we know how bittersweet the taste is on our tongues. How incredibly, excruciatingly hard this is going to be to do.

This relationship. This whole miraj we are to build for them.

And his eyes say _Hey... Shit._

And mine say _Uh, I know... Fuck_

But something else happens. He cracks me a small smile. A tiny little gift to hold me over.

And it says _Hey faceache... They're back._

And I smile back, and mine says _Hey dickwad... I know. And I love you._

_Well arseface, I reckon I love you too_ I read him.

And I read my own face... And it says _Finally. _

Finally, finally, finally. The good tears. And finally our jungle is full.

The little monkey. A big ol' orangutan. An idiotic lanky excuse for a spider monkey, _thats me... _And a saucy chimp. All back together, fighting, and eating, and loving, and loving, and loving...

_/

And on the same day that we are given back our family, we are given something else: A handfull of new lies to sprinkle sweetly over the heads of Russel and Noodle, and we are to hope that those lies would sink into their skulls and give us some cover.

_Lie one: Suicide? I never attempted Suicide. What a silly thing to say._

_Lie two: And pirates? More like overweight, smelly, rude, overly harsh friends! Friends, ofcourse..._

_Lie three: Murdoc is the toughest tough slab of toughety tough tough on the planet, and nothing ever cracked him ever, on the surface of this beach._

_Lie four: Sexual relations? What a rude thing to say. And a relationship? Hold your horses, we barely even talked._

Okay, so maybe these lies are a little bit dolled up or joked with, but the main factor is, we're to follow them, and following them shouldn't be hard...

But it is. Because what the hell do you say when you're asked to completely hide and shove one of your most precious things down your throat? What about that, huh? This one here, kind of hurts.

Because now that we're to leave, It's so lovely here. And to be frankly honest, I've been up on this balcony maybe four times since I've been here. Murdoc won't admit it, but he's been deathly afraid of heights since reasons unknown this year, and it's not much fun up here alone...

He agreed though, to meet me up here. To talk. He hates that word, talk. Thinks it means the tipping and utter splashing and spilling of emotions and feelings. When really though, I could be offering up a chat about buttered bread and which powerpuff girl he's most sexually attracted to.

"Bubbles." He plays dragon, and puffs away his answer, and a cloud of sweet grey smoke.

... Okay, so maybe I asked him which powerpuff girl he was most sexually attracted to. If they were of a respectable age, of course.

"Really?" I shift my elbows carefully on the railing. The sight of it must be what pushed him back a little bit. Heights, and such. "I thought you'd be more up into Buttercup, you know? With the cut throat attitude, and spicy flare. Also, she's got your haircut."

"Funny man, Tussfuck." He deadpans, in a neutral shrug. "Let's see if it won't get you a swift kick in your twig. But uh, yeah, Bubbles... I dunno', I feel like behind all that sugar coating and giggle juice, there's a wick that needs to be lit, and I'd do it."

"You'd light anyones wick, if they asked you to." I shake my head and laugh quietly over the massive landscape of ocean and plastic and late December stars. And that late december black that kisses the ocean, and reflects the water nearly just as black.

"Maybe not anymore..." He huffs, and the smell of his smoke and grey goose lung tango almost matches his words in a way. "Think yours is the only wick I'll be lighting these days."

I love every word that kisses his lips goodbye. Especially ones like those, and I know they mean little to him, but they mean so much more to me. And damn, I sink again because of my own downing thoughts. This truth. This truth of which he might not realize yet...

"That's actually... Sort of why I wanted to call you up here..." I twiddle my thumbs, and breathe.

"What? Not to bumble on over our sexual drive for the powerpuff girls?"

"Ha-ha."

"Ha-ha indeed."

Than its quiet again. And I can't have it be quiet again. Not if I'm to do this.

"You know..." I speak slowly. "That we have to leave... Don't you?"

One second sleeps by. And two. And four. And ten.

"Yeah mate... I know we do." He creaks quietly. Almost sounding like he's hurt. He's upset. I can feel it in him like I can feel my own thumbs, or feet. I never wanted that. Never wanted him to be hurt, especially when the reason is the return of Russ and Noodle.

He wanted to stay. So did I, in a way. And we couldn't. And we can't.

"So... we're leaving than?"

I take his quiet nod, and he gives me some words. "Sometime this week..."

"And..." My sigh is cold and white in the air. "And us?"

His answer will be colder than this air. I know it will be. I can nearly touch it.

"As for us..." And he shifts before giving the words that will part this conversation. "We stay us. But as unfortunate as it is, we will have to become the secret that we've kept. And it will never be easy... But we'll do it. I don't know how, but we will... Trust in that."

So I trust in that. How can I not? And how does this day, after so much happiness and miracle filled air, leave me empty?

Becoming the secret?

I don't want to be the secret.

I...

I don't even want there to be a secret...

**AN:** **Getting close here! But than again, not really. I just really want to thank all of you who have stuck with me here. It means so much that you read this, it really does! :)**

**Don't forget to leave me your opinons, and thanks so much for reading!**

_/


	56. 56: Scars on the Map

**Chapter 56: A scar on the Map**

**AN: REVIEWER VOTE AT THE END! Have fun you guys.**

Today, is some kind of hello, in a way. And in every other way, it's goodbye to that rancid hunk of pink steaming out in the middle of the ocean. That piece of shit that in some way, grew us up, and wore us down.

Here is where we've landed.

And maybe we've found ourselves a new place to raise us old. A place to be home.

And I'm... I'm better now. No,_ really_. I don't think back to that morning anymore. The one with the pills and the alcohol and the tears. The near death. It seems now like a stale dream that I catch every now and than, but just brush off to the knees of my tattered jeans. And in fact, sometimes I look at the morning, and it looks at me back, and it asks me why.

Why didn't you just give the world a chance to heal? Because spit and kick while you can, It will find a way to get better. Just wait.

Today, the sky and grey caked sidewalks are painted white by January. And these little flecks of it stumble from the sky, and land so haphazardly to wherever they were meant to land. Some to our cheeks, and the tips of our noses. And they coat us all as they want, and we stand and take it because what choice do we have?

A _wonderful_ day for moving furniture.

And this sofa's more stubborn than my mother. It's lumpy and pink like her too. That of course, was a joke I had to get out. I can assure you me mum ain't lumpy and pink. But you ever see those sitcoms where this laughable bunch of people are moving a big fat sofa through a slim waisted door, and they're all on either side grunting and pushing and trying and trying to get the damn thing through the door.

Well, hello. That would be us. And I'm on the outer end. And it's _snowing_.

"Okay, okay like- twist it to your right over there." Murdoc calls from the other end, where he stands, warm and lovely and comfortably situated inside this townhouse type thing.

"Wait, which way is right again? Ow!" I'm caught mid question, when Noodle's elbow decides it feels right about slamming into the side of my face, whiles he hustles to turn his side to the right, but ultimately drops her half for a moment to laugh about my pain.

"Sorry 2D.." She chuckles heavily, while still heaving her tired breath. " That was actually half entertaining. I see why Murdoc does it."

Murdoc shrugs neutrally, as we drop our sighs, along with our sides of the sofa.

"Yeah, it's quite entertaining." He says. I toss him a sharp look and he tosses it right back. We masquerade in false hate that isn't hard to fake.

Noodle apologizes with a soft pat to my back. And dang, if she doesn't get older by the minute...

She sports a winter blushed nose and a pale yellow knit cap over her head, and an dense swamp of pale coverup over the disaster touched area under her eye. I observe her. Just to make sure she's really there. And she smiles at me, as I do.

"How long exactly have we been at this?" She twists her mouth, but keeps her patience.

"Half an hour, easily." Murdoc guesses at his relaxed random. I repeat, he ain't the one being pelted with snow.

"Oh great." Noodle groans, a second after raising her wrist to check the time. "Russel is cleaning his feet in the park pond. I was supposed to show up and lead him back here a good twenty minutes ago. What if he gets lost?"

"He's at scale to be the next head on mount Rushmore, I don't think he's going to get lost." Murdoc sasses.

"So is your ego." Noodle bites right back. She's gotten better at that. Thicker insults, and I laugh at it. But its cold anyways, and I don't like seeing her frozen in one spot over the snow...

"Why don't you go get him?" I free her from this. "We'll get it in while you're gone. You're not much help anyways, with your weak arms and such."

"Please, I could lift you over my head and throw you into Murdoc's teeth." Her deadpanning lifts into somewhat of a smile though. "I'll be back in an hour. He takes a good amount of time to lead back, you know."

There are required hugs and vows of saftey before she says goodbye, because the roads are icy, and so is the thought of not being _able_ to hug her goodbye anymore. It snows when she leaves, and it snows when she's gone, and it snows, and it snows, and only when I feel a warm grasp on my shoulder while I watch it, do I realize we're alone.

"Does Russ do this every Tuesday?" I ask.

"Uh huh. And I reckon she'll lead him back every Tuesday too." He says with a sliver of mischief in his voice. "So they'll be gone for about...mmm... an hour."

"Well, let there be Tuesdays than." And my voice fades to whispers as I talk. And I turn secretly to him as if the world will judge us talking. See, we put up this little illusion. And we look completely normal. "So what... You want to uh..."

"Do I want to _"uh"? _Of course I want to "_uh"."_ Oh, and he proves it quite well by slipping away from me and slipping right back over to the other side of the sofa, to be in the doorway. "We got to move this hunk of ridiculous fuchsia garbage inside first. Why'd we get this colour again, do tell me..."

The next ten minutes are a vast landfill of grumbling and arguing and cursing and sweat, sweat, sweat.

He turns it left, and I turn it to my left, which apparently doesn't work out. Move on. I drop it on his foot, the same said foot where a pinky toe is nowhere to be found. Move on.

"Move... The Fucking thing... to MY left." He spits out through a blur of grunting.

"I don't know where your left is, that's why it's YOUR left, cause' I don't know where it IS."

"You're an idiot." He concludes. "I swear... On the prostate of fucking satan... You've the mental capacity of a disabled _alpacka_."

"How..." I grunt, and I groan and I twist that thing, but it's just a boulder in my hands. "Do you expect to get laid... With that attitude?"

"I won't give you an attitude if you just MOVE THE FUCKING COUCH THE WAY I TELL YOU TO."

Pop. And with the budging of our patience, also budges the couch through the doorway, in an abrupt little jerk forward, that brings us both to be standing inside the entry way with a berry coloured sofa barely in our hands.

I pant my dirty lungs nearly out of my throat, and I heave, and I cough, and... wow, I need more excercise.

"I think... I win." I heave.

"You win nothing." He settles his hands back to the armrest and looks me in the eye. "Now come on, we've got to move it into the living area."

My patience collapses and I groan. "Can't we just sit down for a bit?"

"You can sit when you're dead, come on than."

I guess maybe there's something in him that keeps me going. Something that swallows the pain in my back, and sinks my shoulders. Warm little flecks of dying snow are brushed away quickly from my head by my hand, and we get to the easier part, which is just moving this thing into a good spot.

"Kay." I huff. "Where do we want this?"

The living room, obviously. And his answer is something like that. Sarcastic, and very Murdoc-ish. It's easy, and it don't take too long. Just a whole lot of back, and shoulders and wrists. About seven minutes, tops, and an ugly mound of fuchsia dragon vomit is the star of this empty shell of a living room. As far as I'm concerned, job well done. We've got a couch, and a fridge, and some kind of oveny thing, plus our beds and things, so hey? What else is there to do?

I've a few ideas. Like I don't know, actually _sit_ on this thing?

"Alright. Looks about right-" But sever his sentence in half, because right in the middle of it I dive backward and land headfirst into an ocean of swishy pink leather.

"Pink cows make ugly sofas" I mumble into the endless pink "Squishy, ugly sofas."

My chin props to the armrest while the rest of me goes limp to dangle in the wind of this cold box of a livingroom. And only when I actually take a minute to study murdoc's face, do I catch how stupid I probably look.

"Comfortable yet?" He asks like he doesn't even want to know.

I roll my eyes at his attitude, which I'm quickly growing sick of. "Murdoc, you penis, come sit down or something."

"I would, but you're over there, and forgive me for not finding that enticing..."

"Yeah..." I nod and wiggle myself around searching for a good spot. "But you like me."

"...At times."

And I feel... weird. Not a bad weird, but like that kind of weird where your head doesn't fit right, and neither does your mood, so you do silly, silly things, like extending your arm to poke Murdoc in the arse.

"Touch me again, I dare you to." He snipes back with his fiery tongue. Another bullet of his bad mood.

I just snicker at his burns, because they sink right through my skin and I don't even feel them. "Only if you want me to..."

This marks a turning point in his sour attitude. It's easy to see, the way he slowly turns to me and raises an eyebrow... Sinks to my eye level. And moves himself ever so closer...

"And that means?" His words drift inches away from my lips.

"Well..." I whisper. "It's getting rather cold over here... And we've got a little less than an hour... I could be quick."

"Yeah, I know you could." A scoff departs from his sassy mouth. "You're good at _that_."

Something back in my brain frowns, but something on my face smiles, and twists closer and closer to his lips...

"Sod off..." And he takes my words with his tongue, and swallows them like I swallow his. Cold winter, warm tongues, they unite in their own lock as our lips close around each other and the image fades out with the slow click of my eyes shut. Our mouths are bitter with beer and cigarettes and curse words, but every second is sweeter and sweeter...

We fall backward with ourselves, right onto perfection. And I lay back, and he lays back into me...

But his hands are damn cold. Ice stricken spiders, crawling with sharp feet from my neck to my cheeks. And when I say ice stricken, you heed my words, because it's enough to jerk me away from his mouth for a second to get a word in.

"Jesus." I laugh in whispers. "What'd you stick your hands in the freezer or something?"

He watches me with mischef hot in his eyes. Hot, hot, and boiling, and ready to strike me at any free second.

"What? You don't like them?" And those hands are evil, evil I telle you. They're ice, and they're snow, but they find their way like heat seeking missiles, to the belt line of my pants. So where's the heat there? Well, where do you think?

"You wouldn't." I breathe.

"Well I'm going to."

And they do. I shiver as his ice cube fingers land to the waistline to my stomach, which compared to his hands, is boiling water. And they sneak lower... And they loosen the waistline of my pants... And they sneak, and they sneak...

"You... filthy whore!" I laugh at my own mix of discomfort and tingling sensation as he hits his goal, and grips my shaft, which begins to pulse and beat at his touch. "Ohhh, fuck... _wow_."

But it gets worse, and by worse, I think I mean better. He keeps his hands there, and they only get colder as he works, and he fondles, and he tickles the tips of his fingers. The pain from my overgrown toenails curling into my feet nearly stops me from squirming, but not really.

I think about it for a moment as I struggle to keep my voice inside me.

And there is nowhere I'd rather be than here. Litteraly. And that feels good.

"Murdoc, stop." I moan quietly into him.

"Yeah, why?" His whisper hisses. "You can't handle much, now can you?"

"Shut it, I can..." I take his wrists carefully, and pull them from my pants. "But wait... We've got time. And I like being in your mouth, better."

He'd deny it every time I bet, but that made him smile, I know it did. And I love that little part of a smile, I love it more than I think I can comprehend, because it's not supposed to be there. Like a mutant gene, or a trespasser in enemy territory. And that smile says _Let there be Tuesdays._

"That made you smile." I tell him. His denial stays strong with a tiny scoff and a twist of his eyebrows.

"I've done no such thing."

"You're smiling right now."

And he is. It's true. He is, and he can't stop.

"I'd hit you if I could." He grumbles through that sunshine. "I'd smack your teeth to the ground and shove them up your nose."

He fiddles with my fingers. I like it when he does that. And I watch him do it, but follow my thoughts with my eyes, right back up to him.

"Why don't you?"

He seems to look a little sunken. A little bit taken away from here, because he looks down for a moment, and than up again, and I'm glad. Didn't like him looking away. His hands now rest carefully on my chest, and they go up and down with my air. But those hands hold me tighter, and he leans in closer... and...

"Because you're kind of beautiful." He speaks in secrets. His hushed words softly bring me alive. "And I've... I've already hurt you quite a bit... Haven't I?"

I don't answer, because the truth will be painful, but lies will hurt just as much, if not more. I just stare, and stare, and wait, and when no answer comes, he seeks it on his own.

His fingers gently lift and fold the bottom of my shirt. I try and stop him, but he rejects with an opposite hand. So he peels it up from my turning stomach, and I wait...

My body is a map of us. Never more have I been so sure of this. There are valleys there, and oceans and forests too, all completely composed of scars, and dents, and ghosts of past bruises. And it's like his personal canvass. In flesh.

"I remember that one." He fingers a particularly small one, but still it's there. Close to the hip, and pale pink. Small, but there. "It's a cigarette burn. Isn't it?"

I nod like a scared orphan.

"This one too..." He picks another one. Bigger, and thin. A yellowish red, like bad makeup. "Wacked you with one of them pool cleaning sticks, didn't I?... "

I nod again, and I look down... Ugly little islands in my ocean. And when I look at them, and it hurts, I tell myself they're just this:

"They're uh... Like gifts." I comfort his hidden guilt. "From you to me. Easier to remember you by. Heheh."

He _would_ laugh. This would be a joke. It's such a shame that it isn't. That we can't just laugh at this, and leave it away. But he just eats me whole with his eyes, and I am only eaten.

"How many are there..."

"Murdoc, it's okay. Really, I don't-"

"How... How many are there?"

"All together?" I can't look at him. I just twiddle my fingertips and stare at those memory islands. The bruises and scars... "Thirty six. Not just on my stomach though, so that's not that bad... I mean like, all over-"

"I made you... into this." He says like he can't believe. Sometimes I can't believe either. But it hurts even more than the scars when he looks at me like that...

"No..." I shake my head, and I hold back the warmth of water behind my eyes. I don't deny it anymore, I'm a pussy, and moments like this will make me cry, and I don't fucking care, I don't. "You _made _me. You've said it yourself. I'd be living under a rock in Crawley if it weren't for you. Forget the scars, the past sucks, let's move on..."

"Listen." And it's funny how a second later, his finger jabs so harshly into my chest. "I touch you like that again, and you fucking leave. Not the playful punches, bu hurt you like this... You get Noodle, get Russel and you leave, you get up and go and you don't take shit from no one, do you fucking understand me?"

"Murdoc, you don't need to-"

"No, I do." He hisses. "And I'm saying this because I love you, and if I'm holding you back, you just... You run away, and you run _far _away."

"Murdoc." I stop him with only my soft words. "I know you're sorry."

"I _am_ sorry."

"I know." I assure him with my fingers to his cheek. I pet that cheek, and I trace the letters of my name lightly like his in my back. "I know... And hey, I forgive you... And I'm not leaving, because I don't want to... I want to stay here. I'm... I'm happy here... With Noodle, and Russ, and this house, and this stupid couch... and..."

A pause is needed for my shaking breath. "And with you..."

We breathe, and we breathe, but his his different. His is relief, and mine is just trying to hold back tears. And it wouldn't be Murdoc here, if he didn't twist up his face and glower his eyebrows. That same man-sassy Murdoc. But he takes a kiss from me, a quick one to the cheekbone, just below my eye. I feel it linger as he sighs and collapses his tired head to my chest.

"You'd better not be lying." He grunts. "I'll gut you if you are... Not really."

"Yeah, I know that..." I watch those white walls. So clean and perfect, and they mock us. The tough skinned man, with his head on the chest of a fool boy. It's a switch that I've never felt. A tweak. A change.

Because today, when the minutes pass, It's me, who's trying to breathe more carefully so not to wake the head on my chest. It's my hand on his back, and it's my fingers stroking the black leather fabric that lines his torso.

He sleeps, and I don't know where he's gone. It's not my job to know that. My job is to watch him breathe, and keep the world around him safe, even though if anything else he'd fight it away with his bare hands.

"I love you too." I quietly inform this sleeping figure. "God, I hope I'm right."

And I don't know. If we'll be okay... There are scars, and they tell us no. But there is us, and we tell ourselves _yes, yes, yes._

I fall asleep thinking that we are the snow outside, and we are also the sun. We ourselves are the only thing that will melt us away.

_/

Beautiful Tuesday runs away with the comfort in the room when I wake up. Because I wake up to the stench of worry and fear and awkward, and it fills the room, so thick and rotten.

Murdoc has become lightning, and zaps himself up to a sit as he watches the current enemy, who isn't the enemy at all.

The clouds, who are also Noodle. She sits cross legged to the fresh carpet, and plays with her fingernails as she watches us with a cocked head.

"Oh. Hi." She brightly throws her greeting. Not a sliver of shock. "Didn't mean to wake you guys. Figured moving the couch took quite a toll."

Murdoc's face. I almost want to laugh at the anger, or shock or whatever this is that plays back. But I don't of course, because this is a thorn that jabs us all, and my face pretty much matches his.

"I... was..." His excuses are dry. He points in every corner, and looks in every nook for something to say, before whipping his head to me, and pushing me roughly backward to the edge of the sofa.

"I was GOING TO HIT YOU... Because you... You... YOU THREW... YOUR SHOE AT ME. AND KNOCKED ME OUT, YOU FILTHY CUNTWEED."

Noodle of course, takes this as a little weird, and raises a thin eyebrow. "2D... threw a shoe at you?"

"YES... HE DID... AND IT WAS RUDE...Didn't you, 2D?"

"Uhhh...ummm..." I'm choked on what to say for a moment, before remembering that yes is enough. "Yeah, I did..."

"And he had the nerve to LET ME UNCONCIOUS BODY fall onto him... AND THAN JUST FALL ASLEEP. I'll kill him. I'll fucking murder this boy, I need a drink, fucking hell..." On the last of Murdoc's words, he's a snake in the sand. Gone in a good three seconds. Off to the stairway, where he will most likely move into his empty bedroom and sit and stare at the wall for a good three hours. The door slams, and I know its true.

"Well..." Noodle says. "That was... interesting."

I haven't the words to answer, so I just siit. Litteraly, I don't even look anything, I just sit and think about Murdoc, and what the fuck just happened, and soup, and I don't even know, I just sit.

But a ding awakes me from this odd little trance, and offers me a first chance to hear this doorbell. Oh, also a chance to get up and run away from this.

"Yeah, I'll get it." And I think as I leave, I get out of there even quicker than Murdoc. And to be quite honest, it ain't that big of a house, but I get lost like twice on the way. The door is big, and fat, and dented on the sides from when we tried to move it in, but it's not it's fault, so I can't call it ugly.

The ding hits again.

"Yeah yeah, I'm coming." I tell this visitor, and I answer them with a heavy swing of the door, which opens, of course. Doors open, that's what they do.

"Hey." I might say, if I wasn't so busy trying to close my mouth. I'm not quite sure... what exactly I'm seeing here? But I don't know if it's real or not... And uh...

What the hell am I saying, of course this is real. And it's normal too, nothing gross or scary. Just a pretty girl. A pretty, pretty woman, should I say...

Should be about in her thirties, now...

Mahogany hair, it's curtains to her shoulders...

Rabbit hole eyes... They go on and on, and they look at me, and they're just as shocked as I am.

And these lips... Thickish thin, kind of weird... A small flaw.

And she'd be pretty, maybe beautiful if she wasn't Paula Cracker.

Paula Cracker? Yes. What's she doing here? I don't fucking know.

Paula Cracker? Are you sure?

Yeah... Paula Fucking Cracker. And my, don't she just look _pleased._

**AN: REVIEWER VOTE!**

**Ahaha! These are pretty fun, huh? Just remember, even if you don't like this story you should vote so I can update and piss you off some more XD No, just kidding. But please do vote, so I can get this updated!**

_**SHOULD 2D:**_

_**A:Slam that door and run**_

_**B:Greet her. Why not?**_

**But thanks so much for reading! I hope you liked it, and don't forget to leave me your opinions, please! I love to hear what you think!  
Thanks!**


	57. 57: Paula Plays the Game

**Chapter 57: Cracker Plays The Game**

**AN: I've used a few of your ideas here, and thank you to xNoodlex for the idea you've helped me with! Remember guys, if you have ideas, go ahead and tell me! I'm a nice person, I swear, and I love talking to people :)**

**What am I going on about? Go on, if you want! Thanks! :) **

She's a blemish on my life's clock. A scratch, more like. Just lingering there since my twentieth year, in the back of my mind. And the cringing of dark almond eyes over that smooth greying white skin, is the shovel that digs up the frozen memories of Paula Cracker.

And why I might in every way miss her or hate her.

And as I've said, _my_ doesn't she just look_ pleased_. And by pleased, I mean totally fucking pissed off. The corners of her mouth wrinkle, as she grazes me in disgust.

"Pot?"

And no, she wasn't offering me a blunt. Maybe if she was, I would have stayed. In fact, maybe I would have heard more of what she wanted, if I hadn't just slammed the door in her face and scampered my feet from that scene like a fear stricken jack-rabbit, pardon my Texan analogy.

But there's no where to run. Litteraly, this house is too small to play headless chicken and run about in fear of the oh so _dreaded_ Paula cracker until I run into something and die or what not.

Noodle catches my panic with her net of a brain, and tries not to look too confused as she asks whats up. In fact, it's the look on her face which reminds me that I'm pacing around with my hands stitched to my sweat matted head.

"That... That _thing_." My fear speaks for me. "It's outside the door, and I don't know what it wants, but... but-"

"That's just Mrs. Kertensky." She sighs heavily, as if to blow away my stupidity. "2D, I know she's a little on the heavy side, but she's _very_ friendly, and the Kertensky's _are_ our neighbors..."

"No no no no!" I wave that away with my hands and the shake of my head. "Not Mrs. Kerfin-shniggle... whatzit... I mean, it's... Noodle, It's Paula."

_Knock Knock_

"Why?"

"I don't know, she probably wants to cut out my eyes and feed them to washed up homeless _rock stars_ or something, help me!"

"Ask her what she wants, and handle it as you would with an old friend." Like the delicate little woman she is, she crosses her arms and makes an attempt to just LEAVE me here. "Afterall, you can't keep a lady waiting, now can you? I'm going to go make sure Russel's warm, wherever he is."

_Knock Knock. Knock fuckity Knock._

The backdoor is closed, and she lingers somewhere beyond it knowing she's helped. Or thinking she's helped. What does she know? Well probably a lot, because she is of course Noodle. Relationships and their aged rotten trauma however, I am going to bet she knows not much about.

I'm left with one choice, and one choice only. A very logical choice, I'd have to say. The only choice anyone reliably smart might choose... So I quietly creep back to the door, and I open it just wide enough for my eyes, or a mouse's eyes more like, to peek through. As far as I can see, she's still there. And she's been knocking...

"One moment, would you please?"

She doesn't give an answer because I don't give her the _time_ to answer. But I _do_ hear quite an amount of shouting and carrying on banging and what not after I've shut the door in her face for the second time. But my real solvent here, is Murdoc. I mean, when it comes to this stuff he's like the godfather. I call him a few times, and no surprise, he doesn't answer.

So I make that tedious _venture _up this wide stairway, that new place smell rubbing cleaner and cleaner into my nostrils with every step.

"Murdoc?" I must call without looking in any rooms a good four times before his answer rings an echo from the bathroom.

"Dentface." He casually sighs. "I'd ask you what your problem was, that is, if by the grace of your little _god_ figure, I actually gave a rats-"

"Noodle's gone to check up on Russel." I tell him. "You can drop your little act, we're alone again, now help-"

"In the shower. Try again Wednesday." And I almost believe that and sulk away to my fate, until that is, I catch the fact that no water is running.

"I don't hear any water..."

I get what I want when the door nearly batters into my face, and I get a little more, actually...

"I'm guessing you have a problem of some sort." At least I think he said that. It could be anyone, because I'm not actually looking at his face, but rather Murdoc Junior down there, who has gone out of the door uncovered today. It's funny, how little Murdoc cares about that sort of thing.

But he's quickly covered again when Murdoc goes from naked to not, at the snap of a ragged white cloth around his waist.

And as the towel is brought, so are my eyes to his. "It's Paula."

"What of her?"

"She's uh..." I shake away the latest er... _imagery _in my head, and bring up the bad. "She's at the door."

"...What?" His smirk and raised eyebrows make him a little more entertained and curious than angry. "Why?"

"I dunno', she just is!"

"Well did you ask her what she wanted?"

"No I... Kind of slammed the door and ran away without asking."

"Well, go ask her. I don't see what _my _help is going to do..." He mumbles off, and attempts to turn back to his white plated sanctuary.

"Wait!" I steal his wrist as he's off to leave, a risky move. "Wh-... What do I say?"

"I don't know." He rolls his eyes with a lazy shrug. "Say uh... Say..."_Waddup Bitch"... _Do have a good time though, Tuss. Haps' if it Humors me, I'll swing down and rescue you. Good luck._"_

_"_So what?" I ask in a fluster of stress and shaking fingers. "You're just going to leave me with this and go off for a shower?"

"Yeah." He nods. "Sounds about right. Maybe if your problems haven't eaten you by the time you're finished brushing her away, I'll let you join me."

He's quite a help, ain't he? And after those words of wisdom, the third door slamming to take place in the time period of five minutes happens, and I'm left with the cold shoulder. This walk of fear and shame is just me pathetically stalking down the stairs, until I'm faced with that door again. Front door. Same door.

More like a cage door, actually. And behind it? A dragon. So let's set it free, shall we? For the last time I hope, I tug on that nob, and the vision of anger itself slowly slides into view. Dragon? Check.

"Uhh...Huhhmm..." I mumble the frequency of my own brain figuring what to say. "Waddup... Bitch?"

"_Excuse_ me?" Her voice, If I remember right, is still that of so many years ago. Her hair is still dark, and jagged in smooth but sharp layers tied back. And still, those little rabit hole eyes. Dark, and deep, and hiding me in them. On and on and on...

"I mean, uh..." I shake away these thoughts. "Paula... Hey... What's up?"

The dark eyes glower, and her strange lips quarrel with me, into a twisted frown as her mole dances above them.

"What's up? _What's up? _Well whoopdie fucking _do,_ 2D, you've slammed this bleedin' door in my face twice, and than called me a bitch once you've finally opened it, I'd like to know _what's up_.

"Err, Sorry... About that." I itch my head as she shakes hers. "Didn't really know what to say."

"_Hi_ would have worked."

"Hi."

"You're an idiot."

I gift myself a deep clean sigh, and sink my eyebrows at her. "Is this what you've came to do? Just stand here and... Well... Call me names, and shit? That's some quality maturity, Pauline."

"First of all, call me that again, I dare you." She holds up a sloppily painted fingernail and hates me with every bit of her burning eyes. "Second of all, I'm not here for some shitty reunion, and I'm not here to piss you off-"

"Than what are you here for?" I scoff. She moves that finger away with an outstretched arm. "You've got your car parked in Mr. Kertensky's spot."

"You know the Kertenskys?"

"I'm _staying _with the Kertenskys."

"Since when?"

"Since they're my grandparents. Dads side." She implies this because I've met her mothers side before. She hated every moment of it, but I held through like a nice young lad... And I almost laugh, because she's pathetic. Living with her grandparents at thirty whatever... But I don't because it's also sort of sad. Last I heard, she was on some sort of meds or oxycodine or something...

"Right... The car..." I cough out the awkwardness into my hand but it doesn't go away. "That's Murdocs, I think... He's the only one who would park in a park in someone else's parking spot."

"Still hanging around him I see..." She says. "You always were a dumb kid. He ain't a bad one though..."

"Alright _alright_." I groan into the blue. Avoiding her every bit that I can, while standing right in front of her face. "Well if you're here to screw me over again, you can't. Murdoc's in the shower. I'll move the stupid car..."

Murdocs keys are pocketed in a moment without much of a word, and out in this winter wasteland, Paula's arms remain crossed as tight as she is loose, as we trudge through that hardened snow. The kind that would have been good for making snow men, but has been frosted over the top by an angry layer of ice. Winter. Huh.

The way your feet sort of just smash into these little mounds like knives into fresh pastries. That _sckrack _that hits your ears. Winter is something of a beautiful, terrible thing, I think.

And I like how people ball together in the winter. It's like the rest of the year, people are so harsh, and hid away. Than winter rolls around, and people get cold or something, so all of the sudden they're being cute on the subways, and cuddling up beneath furnaces. So cold, and so bothered, but happy with themselves. Happy maybe, with the winter.

"Why are you even here?" Paula is the pin that pops of my balloon and spoils this.

I feed her angry mind my only answer. "Moving Murdoc's car so your grandparents can park, or something."

She rustles around in that coat of ebony tweed that somehow holds the right to be named racy, or promiscuous. "No you twit, I mean _her_. Why Wobble Street? Couldn't you have gone off and stayed on that little pink hunk of crap?"

I resist quite well, telling her that she is in fact, a _little pink hunk of crap_, but my calm keeps clean, and I shake it away.

"I didn't know _you_ were here." I tell her straight. "Stop acting like this was so aimed at you. We didn't move here to tick you off."

"You're the one who's slammed the door in my face a good three times."

"It was twice."

"Whatever!" She stops. No really. Something hits her I guess, and she comes to her feet before swinging around and catching my eye to stop me too. "Listen, if you're still miffed about the whole thing between me and Murdoc..."

"There _is_ no you and Murdoc." I snarl. Murdoc gets the best of me from a hundred feet away. He is afterall, under some sort of limited way _mine,_ and Paula can meddle as much as she wants, because the good guys always win.

Her head shakes and right now, I wish it to fall of those damned shoulders. "Sorry, okay? I'm sorry, but this was _years _ago, and I think I've got my shit a little more stapled together than when I was twenty whatever old."

"That doesn't make it okay to sleep with my best friend..." I Breathe out... Collect myself. "_Jesus _Paula, I was practically a school boy when I met you. You were the first girl to... to ever really... _touch _me... and there you were, touching men all over town behind my back."

There is shock there, of course there is, I knew there would be. But honestly not the kind that I thought there would be... It's entertained, that look on her face. An entertained shock, and she livens it up even more so by cocking her head and stopping me with a single finger.

"Wait wait, hold on..." She places that finger delicately to her lips to stifle a snorty laugh. "When you say... That thing about me being the first girl to... _touch_ you... You don't mean..."

My eyes roll back almost so far that it hurts, and I'm quiet for this sticky moment. I ask myself for a moment, what this terrible music is, before remembering that that sound is the echo of my embarrassment crying out under falling flakes of white sprinkle.

"Yeah." I mutter sourly. "I mean."

"I nicked your V ticket?" Her laughter is bitterly contained by her two fingers. "You was a cherry? A fucking virgin?"

"Like you didn't know!" I say bitterly. "I had to ask you what a hymen was, and you couldn't tell I'd never had sex? I- God, why am I even talking to you about this? I'm freezing my arse off, let's just move the damned car and split or whatever."

"You told me you'd lost it to a girl named _Bliss Chiranda McFreely..._" She giggles to herself as the car is miles away but right ahead of us.

And its miles away not because of some deep meaning spiritual bullshit, it's miles away because every extra second with Ms. Cracker over here, is a long, sour bitch of a mile that forgive me, I don't want to waste with her.

But the air changes as the minutes pass, and I've parked the car in its correct spot.

"Now you've gone and made me feel bad." Paula murmurs to herself, or possibly me, as she so _caringly _escorts me back to the door.

"Huh." I _matter of factly _huff. "Sickening, isn't it?"

"What's sickening?"

"Oh, I dunno'." I chew my tongue in a spert of some sort of nervousness. "Realizing you're a bitch, for the first time."

"Fuck off."

"Exactly." I laugh the laugh of a sour old man as she lags behind in this deep blade layered snow. She's quiet for a while, as the front door becomes visible through a sheet of thick fog rendering it near impossible to catch the view four feet in front of me.

And I begin to wonder why exactly she's still here, when we finally reach it. She's like one of them lost dogs in those movies that make you cry when you're little, or just over emotional. With the exact eyes to match.

I take no time for sweetened goodbyes. "Welp', bye."

"Wait... 2D..." She calls with a voice unlike her. Slightly soft. Forgive me if I'm wrong, but maybe, possibly something in it cares? "I think I'm sorry."

"You _think _you're sorry?"

"Yeah. I mean, I guess so..."

Huh. If _"huh"_ is a thought, let it sprint through my mind. She still stands. Waiting, invisible hands out to catch my forgiveness. I don't throw it. It's too breakable.

"Okay."

"I'm at F.R.U.T on Saturdays, sometimes..." And she in fact, throws out a piece of useless information for he to catch. I think of catching it for a moment before something catches me, besides the thought that F.R.U.T is an odd name for a club.

A hand, as the door behind me swings wide is what catches me. By the back of my hoodie, to be exact. I don't waste time remembering who might do this. The warmth swallows me like a frozen pill on the warm tongue of the house, as I'm roughly pulled in by Murdoc, who remains draped by the same ragged towel.

"Ah. Paula." He quaintley mutters in that charming ringer of his. "Come back for round two, have you?"

Her eyes stay wide awake as she seems slightly pleased by his sight. As am I, Paula.

'Well..." He seems to think about it for a moment, sarcastic enough though, for us to know that he isn't. "I'm afraid not. I think the likes of you are a bit shall we say _fermented _for my tastes... Or in other phrases, I've found better... Also has 2D."

I soak up his classy disses and savor every second of it as Paula can only watch. Fermented. Ha.

"Or in even better words... More understandable so, for your mind" He shrugs. "You're a tramp, and we don't like you. Have a good one, than."

My luck and glee frolick together hand in hand in a meadow within my head. Or uh, I mean, he slams the door and I'm ecstatic. He walks it off with a spring in his step and a light tune to whistle like that was nothing... I, however...

"Holy shit." I laugh, and shake my head like I can't believe it, which is completely true. "Ho-ly shit! That was amazing, I could seriously kiss you right now..."

"Than why don't you?" He swivels around casually, that little towel being held so carelessly by his one hand. And that, is a good question. Why don't I? I could think, and spring up some bogus internal reasoning, but heres the thing... I can't.

I don't kiss him. And I don't know why... Maybe it's just because I want to look at him, and thank him so many times over so many times for changing in these tiny, tiny ways that pop up for use when I barely notice. Thank you... Just thank you...

He takes the liberty after rolling his eyes and clicking his tongue like the sassy man he is, to drown away every memory of Paulas lips with his own. His hands softly enclose my face, and I quietly twist as the fifty something-th kiss becomes the first all over again.

And it ends softly, with the wet slow goodbye of our lips parting, and I laugh quietly under his lips as I feel like he might be laughing inside.

"And now?" I gently ask him.

"Well..." He so casually says. "I still haven't taken my shower... Matter of fact, you haven't taken my shower either..."

Paula fumes somewhere, as we walk down our cold stairway sunset, I can feel it. Maybe for once, we've won, even if somewhere it feels like we'll have a lot more of this game to play...

For now, we win.

And for just now, I love this game.

**TO BE CONTINUED**

**AN: Things see settled? Awe hellno. I have things in store that I've had planned since the BEGGINING. Hold on to your seats!**

** Again, thank you guys so much for reading, my lovleys :) **

**Do tell me what you think! Spelling errors, problems, things you liked or didn't like. I love you guys and your opinions.**

**Thanks, babes :)**


	58. 58:Shame Glazed with Peaches

**Chapter 58: Shame Glazed with Peaches**

**AN: I honestly cannot believe you guys have stuck through this far. Thank you so much, and if you're still here, please do hang on! Totally love you guys :)**

****Just a warning, I'm jumping right into a lemon here, so if you don't like that sort of junk, go on ahead and skip ;)****

Pause.

The last time I remember my heart beating this fast in the rain, it was following a tuck and roll out of one of a vast many of stolen cars. And walking. There was so much walking, and the strange feeling that maybe my heart had absorbed all that rain there, because it was the heaviest I'd felt in a long time.

It's just an echo now. Dust along the road I've followed. And it's eventually brought me here. In the rain again. But these are two _very_ different things, these feelings and situations. And well... This isn't exactly rain. This above my head, is the flow of the tears of an innocent shower head, forced to watch these activities.

"Are you... not removing anything here?" Murdoc mocks me. Yes, he's here too. What would this be otherwise? Masturbation, probably. And he asks this, because I'm still wearing things, minus shoes.

He laughs cruelly when I actually tip my head and observe this. Soaked clothes on an internally dry man, soon to be changed. These jeans cling to my legs like wet pasta to a wall, but an outline of sexual excitement can be made out through that thin fabric. I go ahead and smile warmly at my own idiocy before reaching down to tug them off. He takes over.

"How long do you think we- have?" I pause a little when his hands brush my waist before pulling them down.

"Mm... Noodle'll be back in enough time already. probably a solid five minutes. This will have to be quick." He grunts in mild frustration. "What, do you glue your pants onto your legs each morning? Damn..."

They budge, and slide down my legs with the rest of the warm shower flow that kisses everything bitten by winter. As the seconds snap by, we are racing professionals. The shirt, gone and sticking bitterly to wherever it has landed. The icing here, is removing the knickers.

I let him do that. I think it empowers him, and in a strange way, it empowers me too. In a smaller way. How his knuckles grace my hips, and almost my stomach. My skin jumps at that. You know... How when other people, or even you yourself, just lightly graze your stomach and... _pop_. A flinch.

And I begin to breathe heavier in small doses when he plunders lower. Knickers gone. Shame, long away. Regrets? Too late, if I ever had any. And what is here, is that feeling from outer space. So weird. Like you could just fly to the moon for a better view, and never know where it came from.

Something slows for a moment, and we aren't us. He leans into my ear, and I watch his shoulders as he closes in. I watch every shifting muscle, every pulse point, and every _beat, beat, beat,_ and those beats join in with his mouth as he whispers.

"You know the drill."

I laugh, but I also shutter. At this. At all of this. The hardened smile on his breaking face. That wet mussed up hair...Than I gulp, and he fingers away strands off soppy hair in front of my eyes.

"You're not going in dry." I scoff at him when he tries to move me. "No way in hell, go get something, man."

One way or another he argues about it being cold out there, and he argues and feistily spits at me. But... Maybe, and I hope it's so, but maybe it's how I look at him. I hope there's something in the way I look at him that sets his mind to new levels. Levels that allow him to step out of the shower for a moment to grab some erm... _anti-friction solution._

_Okay_, he says, or something like that. I can't really place it. It's more of a grumble. He leaves me in, and goes bare naked into the cold. There's this moment where I don't think he's coming back. But he does because I'm lucky.

"Alright." And he slides back between the doors. "You've gotten what you wanted."

"Yeah well,I want a lot of things, now don't I..." I tease him with this feather on a stick that is my voice.

"Yeah?" The walls almost seem to close in as he leans into my ear again. "Like what?"

"Like..." I touch his face as I talk. Claiming it. And his chin. His chest... "Like a spaceship, maybe. That'd be pretty cool. Or tornado chasing equipment... Maybe_ you_."

"Maybe?"

"Maybe."

"Well, maybe I'd rather have a falcon." He teases me right back.

"You can't fuck a falcon in the shower, now can you?..." I can barely hear my own voice, because I think it was only meant for him to hear.

"Yeah, yeah, alright soldier." He props me up by my shoulders. Leaves me this manly little kiss on the cheek, which is manly because I say it is. "Assume your position."

He doesn't leave me without another one. A tender peck to the forehead this time, before slapping my back to turn me around. I do as his body language tells me. Hands to the wall, chest pressed against the bitterly cold tile. Assuming the position.

My heart kicks again. Thumping against the walls of my chest like in those cartoons. Where you watch it bulge seven feet out of your chest. And it jumps up and down like this, because I know any moment he'll be in, except I don't know which, and that's what gets me.

Not knowing. Never knowing. Just listening to him silently slime himself up over there, all to lessen my pain. It's quiet, but the water crashes so loud against the floor drain, and my body screams so loud, and so does the world around us, but it's quiet.

Those hands gently grab my waist, and that is the only thing that gives me any sort of warning. It always hurts at first, and it always will. But I'm getting better. And when he pricks himself into me, his wet chest and my wetter back touch and that little tiny feeling of our skin together is what almost shuts up those first few seconds of pain.

And heres this: Only when _that _happens does my mind stop running to pause and pant and realize I can _feel_ him _inside _of me.

I still feel my teeth cave into each other to clench, and I still feel that little prick of pain sewing my eyes tightly shut. But he adjusts. A push. A rough shove to achieve something deeper. My face hits the wall because I'm still stuart, and I'm still an idiot, and he still stops to laugh, and if he didn't laugh, I might be worried.

"Careful there." He finds some way to talk. I'm not so sure how he can do it. Just compose himself like that. "Nose injuries can be quite painful."

"You would know." I grunt back. No. I didn't. I tried, but I'm so bad at talking when we do this. He can. It's like an art or something, how he can just try for a normal conversation through all of this. He pushes, rocks, shoves us back and forth as I'm lightly pressed over and over against the shower wall. I don't mind.

It takes a minute that we don't have free, for this to feel alright. To enjoy this. For that sensation of him moving in and out of me to retrigger some kind of matching sensation in _my _frontal areas which keep nearly perfectly still when we aren't tossing around. I feel almost something like restless. Like moving is the only thing that will free me from the teasing feelings inside.

I squirm like the insect that I am under his thumb. I try to move, and these feelings produce a moan that he always has to hold back with his cupped hand.

"_Nnghhh..."_ I whine through his hand. Whining and moaning isn't okay here. We're well aware of that. People will here, and tell, and than I don't know. Grunting and the occasional _erh_ is okay, because nobody to EVER have and enjoy sex has ever kept silent.

And yet I squirm, and it's not my fault when I _ughhhnn _and I groan at him.

"_You're mine_." He mouths with barely audible words through thick panting. Those words are his sweaty finger on my trigger, and he is so close to pulling. "And you're going to wake up later with every indication and feeling that you belong to me."

It's domination, that sentence. Every word he says. And if I wasn't already soaked by the shower head, It would be with our own sweat.

"_Say it_." He breathes, and his hand moves away to make way for what he wants. He wants words. He wants me to say it. I try. But I stutter, and I groan, and all that I can produce is the air leaving me.

"Say it." Again, he tells me. And it's hard because It's so dificult to even breathe. And to talk... I gulp, and my mouth opens like it's been closed for a thousand years.

"I'm... I'm _yours_."

"Who's?" He raspilly chrips. "I don't believe I've heard you correctly.

"Yours." The words erupt from my chest and fall from my mouth like an avalanche from a mountain of anticipation and sexual frustration.

"And what's my name, _Stuart_..." He moves quicker than he knows he should. He's smart, and he knows that if he moves like that, all the quicker it's going to be that my juice hits that wall before his. "Stuart, Tell me... _What's my name_..."

"M-Murdoc..." His name drips from my lips and falls in whiny chunks. "Murdoc, oh fuck, Murdoc... I.."

"That's right, Tuss..." His breathing becomes wind in my hear as he leans closer. "And you... belong... to _me_." He drives me. He is my drive. And he steers me wilder than I'll ever hope to be steered.

And the door opens. I hear it from downstairs, and I feel it shut through every boiling vein beneath my skin. We don't have long. We should stop now. Right fucking now, we should stop, it's the smart thing to do. We don't want to. We don't want to stop. It's afterall been only at least four minutes...

"She's back." I carefully pant my words. "Wh- what do we do?"

"I guess you'll just have to paint that wall in front of you before Noodle finds us, huh?" He tries to crack me open and spill me. And I try to remain uncracked.

"Or maybe I'll just... hmm..." He goes for the neck. I can feel him thinking it. He knows very well that the minute he touches the back of my neck, this is all over. It's like... a button, if you will.

"You- you wouldn't..."

"Oh... I think I _would_." And so... He does.

And than, I lose. My fluid hits the wall with a sound that I have no intention of listening to, and a moment later he wins, when the contents of his winnings is trickling silently down the back of my leg. I can breathe again, but my heart beats faster than it did before. And somehow in these seconds of winning and losing and relief, every inch of me feels better than it did before and during.

I want to turn and see him but the footsteps don't let me. We hear them from downstairs, and not even the warm water can unfreeze us. He looks at me for a moment. A goodbye. A thank you. A _you'd better fucking book it, man._

"Fuck." I watch his mouth move, and than I watch him move and catch these last few seconds of his naked back before he's out the side door that connects to his room. Blown away from me by our own fear.

I know I'll see him later. I always do. We just pop up somewhere in the dark. Alone together for a few somethings, moments or hours. That's when I guess, we'll look at each other and send silent _thank-you_'s for what's just happened.

And I wish we didn't have to. Didn't have to lie.

It's really very dirty rotten. Almost as rotten as the consequences of telling the truth. Maybe I don't care about the consequences anymore. He does.

I don't clean his shower walls before leaving. Just in case he forgets I was even there.

_/

**Hours or so Later...**

He wants to know what Paula wanted. I can tell by the way he keeps insulting her. His fingers curling and snapping about so much. I can tell by that too. It's kind of should I say, cute? That almost fits. Because he's a little bit Jealous. I don't know why.

"Do you... wanna' know what Paula wanted?" I ask. It's too dark in here to make out reactions. It's too dark for faces, too. And I guess maybe, it's too dark for answers. In fact the only light is that tiny red fleck at the end of his cigarette. Like his eye. Burning, and red, and burning and burning. I can almost see his face when he brings it close and breathes in the happiness behind it.

"Why would I want to know that." It isn't a question. His questions are never questions. They're just sentences you have to answer.

"I don't know." And so as it turns out, I'm the one answering. "You look a little nervous."

"You can't see me. It's too dark in here. I could be anywhere." He tries to seem mysterious. It sort of works and it sort of doesn't because I'd like to think I understand everything there is to know about him. I don't. He himself is a question that will never be answered.

I roll my tongue and pucker my lips and I breathe for myself.

"She lives next door now." I say just so simply. "Her grandparents are the Kerten-whatzits. You parked in their parking space and I had to move your car-"

"That's not all she wanted." He says this like he must be shaking his head. "There's got to be something else. What else did she say, huh? Didn't ask for anything? Didn't _apologize_?"

He coughs on that last word. Must have took in to much on one puff. I do that sometimes too.

"Well... She said she was sorry." I gnaw my thumbnail for some nervous reason. "We just kind of argued for a while. And than... She sort of... invited me out?"

"What did you tell her..." He doesn't ask where, or what we argued about, or what kind of shoe size she was wearing or anything else. I was right. He's jealous. Of what, I don't even know.

"I didn't even really answer." Maybe that comforts him, when I say that. "Not on a date, Murdoc. She just said something like _Oh I'm at this club on Saturdays._ She means she performs there, I think. You don't have to worry, Murdoc. I'm not going to ditch you for Paula."

"...I didn't say I thought that."

"You're acting it."

"You can't tell what I'm acting, it's three A.M, and we're both lost somewhere in this bathroom with the lights off, I don't think either of us can tell what anyones acting."

It's true I guess, so I accept him and toss him a cheap laugh. "I guess. You never did explain _why_ we're lying on the bathroom floor in the dark at three in the morning."

"Maybe we're playing mirror games. Ghost mirror games."

"Like hell we are." I shake that thought away. "Haven't you seen any of them supernatural activity movies? You'd be the first to go. The first ones to go are always the arseholes."

"Fuck off, I'm nice enough to_ you_." He hisses. That sentence already defies itself.

I shoot for a change of subject. "I think we should go to that club thing where Paula is."

"Over my toeless foot, we are."

"_Whyy."_ I whine. Not noticing how small I sound when I talk like that. How dominated. How childish.

"We don't need to." He says. "Rubbish, she is. Don't need any of that."

"I just feel bad." I bite my lip a little bit. Sulk a little bit too. "She's kind of pathetic. Living with her grandparents at thirty whatever, I don't even know. She looked a little burnt out, too."

The truth is, I feel like we did that to her. Like we broke her chances of living right. I don't tell Murdoc that. He might get mad or something. I don't like it when he's mad. I like it when he's quietly happy, like he is right now.

"We could show up for like, twenty minutes." I throw it out there for him to pick up or drop. "Just let her see we're there, and than just ditch."

He doesn't pick up my suggestion. Doesn't drop it either. Just kind of looks at it maybe, or thinks about it.

Still dark minutes later. Like the inside of your eyelids when you close them. But my eyes are open, because there's still that one little red gleam in the dark. Still waiting to burn out, waiting to die. And when it finally does, there is no funeral. Only words.

"Ten minutes. Than we'll leave. You got it?"

At first I think he's kidding. I mean, give in? Murdoc? No. That's not him. But I play his voice back in my head. He sounded serious. Unbroken by laughter or sarcasm. So than I think, maybe he's for real.

"Are you... Would you really go with me?"

"I mean, I might as well watch her bomb her own routine and get booed off the stage by middle aged homeless men." He puts in his bright little two cents. It doesn't matter what kind of two cents it is, because he'd agreed to it. That's more than I can ask.

"Ten minutes, that's all." I assure him. Just to get a hook on him. Anchor him down to this. He sighs, and it's a tired sigh. The kind born in the late night from tired confused men that really should go to bed, but don't. Just don't.

"Yeah, whatever."I should have sold you to Russian Pimps a long time ago."

Those are his last words to me for a long time. I feel like I'm okay with that. Like I've said, and like he's said, and like Uma Thurman said one time under the name of Mia Wallace, _why do we feel it necessary to yack about bullshit in order to feel comfortable?_

That's the thing. We've grown up, and we don't anymore. We can just sit here, in the dark.

And we can shut the _fuck_ up.

And nobody breathes their second thought about it.

_/

**Saturday**

We sit in this croud like good, wholesome, normal minded folk.

But we think like we always do.

We hide in our heads. We swear at her with our minds, and we boo with our brains, and we sulk around in the remnants and memories of Paula cracker. Or maybe it's just me.

I'm not going to say she's bad up there, but I'm not going to say she's good either, because that means admitting that she's anything more than a heartbreaking piece of crap. She ain't the lead in that band. And she's not even a part of it. You can tell it's just a separate gig thing because they don't look at each other, not even a little bit.

I will say this: If her personality has improved as much as her guitar skills has, maybe she's earned something like forgiveness. But the top hugging her chest spells out _TROUBLE,_ and no top could speak such truthful words and still be only a top.

She dips away from the stage every song or two. And each time she returns, a drink takes the place in her once empty hand. And it seems that with each one, her playing drowns a bit, becomes sloppier. alcoholism. Must be.

I think for every song played, Murdoc has swallowed another scotch in a single swig. I can't much blame him. This entire building is the size of a sardine can, with a matching smell, plus the man next to him at the bar keeps asking him his shoe size.

Eventually, the crowd dies down along with the last microscopic sliver of excitement or happiness Murdoc's ever had since we've been here. For one reason or another, we stay, or maybe just forget to leave. The songs stretch on with each set, and before I have time to notice it, Paula takes a dive.

Like. Litteraly. Her body becomes another crashing wave in this ocean of people. She tips. Tips again. And she has apparently decided she loved the ground so much she wanted to become part of it.

She seems to hit the ground with every intention of staying there.

"Did she just-" Murdocs eyes swivel from the bar, to Paula's resting place on the ground. "Did she just fucking fall off the stage? Did I miss it?"

And I just kind of watch. She just waits on the floor to either be picked up, or sink into it. She just... lyes there. Breathing. Watching people's feet as they laugh. Nobody even helps. They're just watching. Like me.

Why do I get up? Why do I even walk over there? She has done nothing but muck things up. So why do I pull her up? Why do I drag her away from the scene of her own crime? Murdoc looks disappointed. A little angry. I don't care. I may not like her, but I'm not going to leave _any_ human being to melt into the floor. Murdoc wordlessly takes an arm. I ignore the annoyed look on his face and take one too.

We leave this club with eyes stabbing our backs like they actually have room to judge. She's a fucking mess. She slurs, and wobbles, and trips as we carry her off.

"Oh what a great idea this was, 2D." Murdoc chips into my already just _great_ mood. "Gee, I really should listen to you more often, shouldn't I?"

I don't say a word. Mostly because I can't think of anything good to say. But also because he's right this time. We don't talk while we walk her, and we don't talk as we both silently make the decision to drive her back.

And big surprise. When we cram her into the back seat like a rag doll into a dresser drawer, we don't talk. And than, only he does.

He tells me I've got to sit back there with her. Make sure she doesn't throw up or touch anything or something like that. So I tell him okay. But he's forgotten his wallet or something. He tells me something like that. That he'll be right back after he gets it. So he leaves, and I'm alone with this thing.

She laughs. Laughs and laughs at something that I can apparently not see or hear. Because nothing is funny to me. I don't see anything to laugh at here. Paula, you're an alchoholic. That's not funny.

"You're- You're_ silly_." She giggles through bubbly hiccups. "Like- your face and your hair, I just- I..."

"Settle down." I make a small attempt at settling her into the seat. She won't. She wants to be wild, so whatever. Let her.

"2D, stop being such a- such a 'hic' square all the time." She whines at me. Like I'm the one who's wrong here. "Lighten up, yeah?"

No, Paula. If lightening up for you is doing_ that_, than you need to lighten the hell_ down_. She tumbles and moves about like this is a god damned Zumba fitness class. I just wait. Wait for Murdoc. Wait for whatever. For this to be over.

"2D..." She quiets down her laughing for a second. It kind of scares me. The way she leans closer. How she stops moving. "Are you lonely?"

"I'm not talking about this, Okay?" I say as calmly as I can without ripping out. "Just take a nap or something, god!"

She ignores me. One thing she's good at. "No, I mean 'hic', you just seem so... alone. And like, off in wherever."

"I'm fine." In fact, if she had any idea how fine things actually were... And maybe I'm hallucinating here... But it seems for a moment, that she stays still for a few minutes. Just breathes her sour drunken breaths, and sways ever so slightly as I begin to wonder where Murdoc is.

"I sorta' miss you." She drags out her words until they slowly pop. This kicks my brain, and it kicks it hard. Bang. instant headache. I cradle my head in shaking hands and pray for Murdoc to just get back in the damn car.

"Don't do this. Please don't do this."

"Don't do what?" She snaps too quickly. Her mood was a rubber band, and it snaps, and it hits me right in my face. Tell you the t- truth? _'hic',_ I miss you, okay? Like, a lot. So I'm sorry or whatever. But I do."

"You're drunk." I remind her as if she even knew in the first place. "And I'm going to do you a favor and not hold this against you."

"Hold yourself against me?" Just like that, she's weird again. Giggling. Glowering her eyes. "Really? Is that- wh- what you want to do?"

It's instantly going to get bad here. I can see it happening already.

"Paula, don't." I stay stern. She doesn't.

"When- when's the last time you kissed a girl, 2D?" I think of answering. I think of lying. It doesn't matter what I think of, because it's too late.

Her tongue is peach Smirnoff and ale and cigarettes. Her lips are a mystery of guava chapstick and rum. This is her kiss. And this is more than I ever needed to know.

I swear on everything, if I hadn't had this sort of flash of memory I would have pushed her off the moment she swung herself over me and shot her lips into mine. But the taste takes me somewhere far away into so many years ago of nights in the back of the music shop, and days at Kong studios.

And the only reason I think I stay in her mouth is not my own choice, but the choice of my remembering. The flash of so many years ago, nights in the back of the music shop, days at kong. All glazed by the candy coating of peach Smirnoff and ale and cigarettes.

And I have never been so swallowed by shame in my whole life.

It only gets worse when I catch a Ruby glinting eye watching from outside the window.

**AN: Welp, thank you for reading again :)**

**And hey, so what did you think? Do review and tell me what you think, guys! **

**Thanks again.**


	59. 59: Pixie Dust

**Chapter 59: Pixie Dust**

And when his face doesn't change, it's not sweet anymore.

_Who am I even kidding?... _It was never sweet. The peaches, the cigarettes, the ale. It's disgusting, her lips are disgusting, she's beautiful, but she's so ugly, we're so ugly, we are _ugly ugly people_ and this was never okay. It took getting caught for me to realize that. That on it's own is... terrible...disgusting...ugly.

The moment the air changed and he saw, I took my lips from hers, and you'd better believe I pushed her away, and I scooted the hell back, and I pleaded and begged with my eyes...And do you know what?

He never changed. I was an animal, and he watched with a neutral face painted over his disgust, and now he still watches. No anger. No pain.

And no forgiveness.

I think, Paula's yelling at me? Maybe complaining. Asking for my tongue again. I don't know. I can't hear anything... I don't know. It's just wacky, if you'll take that word. All of this is. Watching the glass between us be the prevention of the truth as it promises to hold back any words that might try to leave me. Sure, I could open the door.

And sure, I could also get hit in the face when I do open that door.

It's like I'm under thin ice. Drowning. Telling him the truth, apologizing. _ I'm sorry, I'm sorry... _But _he _can't hear me. I'm too far below the water, I think I mean my own brain, which seems to be incapable of doing anything but watching and producing stutters at three times the normal rate.

He's moving. This is an update, and I thought at first it was maybe just the wind or something, but he's definitely moving. Moving towards this backdoor. Moving towards _me._ With every second he's a little closer, and with every gap between those seconds he gives me another reason to panic. Another second to think about what I've done. And another moment to watch his statue body walk. Cold shell. Hot emotions turned cold. By _me. _Times up.

If I could talk, I don't know what I'd say. It would make his opening the door so much more dramatic. So much more angsty. The way he looks at me for a moment while she babbles on. I know he wants me to say something.

"_Say it_." I can hear him tell me. His lips don't move but I can hear his mind just as well. "_Go ahead, tell me this isn't real. Explain. Apologize. Grovel at my feet and kiss my toes. Do anything. Say anything. Please."_

That or he just wants to hit me like _really _hard. An expulsion of his anger and broken trust and possible pain riding the fist train right into the side of my face. That's what _I _think, and when his hand makes a positive B-Line for somewhere on my body, I make my first break of voice. A grunt of fear. I can whine in fear of being hit, but I can't open my fucking mouth to tell him the truth, and how really really sorry I am, and how beautiful he looks in the ashy moonlight, or ask him to stay, or garble out a slew of crushed ice words that mean _I love you_.

"Come along. Buckle yourself in than,Miss Paula." That voice so sickeningly cheery. The flight I take after he takes me with a single hand and discards me to the pavement like a failed paper airplane. It's too much to handle all at once. Too much to process. So I beep.

"Uh... I- Uhmm-" That's what I mean by beeping. Like I've said before, we're all just machines, and sometimes we can't talk, and this is what we do when we can't. I slur my words.I stutter. I beep.

When he's made sure that every trace and fiber of my being has been freed to the pavement and cleaned from the seat of the car, he cages Paula in with the door that slams in both of our faces. Mine especially. It's like a show. A terrible show, and It's all my fault, and I don't know how to stop it, so I watch from the ground, and I stutter, and I heave, and I breathe, but my lips quiver and my voice croaks, and I try to say...

"Murdoc."

When his shoulders quietly shift to let his neck turn, he looks at me, and I want to cry. When he doesn't scowl, my head hurts, and I cringe in confusion. When he doesn't yell, I want to throw up. And when his face doesn't crack, or wrinkle, or rattle a single muscle... I panic.

I think I broke Murdoc.

I don't even try to fix him. I can't. I just shiver, and stutter, and twiddle my fingertips while my time runs away with Murdocs emotions. To waste. To somewhere. To nowhere.

"I hope you enjoyed the show." The door shuts. Yeah, that's it. The engine starts. That's all. And he drives away with my heart in the backseat. I sit on my arse and watch the car flush away into the black. No stars. No sunset. No rain. No wind in the trees. Not a movie. So everything is wrong here.

It has been ten minutes when my arse starts to hurt. Twenty when I realize I'm cold. Thirty to remember. Thirty to focus and retrace.

_"I hope you enjoyed the show"_

It eats my head. Those words. They eat everything when I choose to remember them. But I don't cry. I don't think I deserve to. Boys cry when they break things and hold onto them. When men break things, they watch them and swallow their pain and forget.

That's why I don't think I'm either. Just stuck in this little vortex between boy and man. You know why? Because I do cry a little bit. No actual tears, and no noise, but I can feel myself crying. Don't ask how it's possible, because I don't know. But my chest aches, and my eyes hurt, and I can feel myself crying, but I'm not.

There's one thing that maybe makes me a little bit man, though. Men break things, and they pick them up, and they fix them up good. I broke this. I broke this so bad, and I'm not going to sit here in a dirty parking lot where people without real things to do are watching me here, and I'm not going to act like I didn't fuck this up real hard.

I won't cry.

And I won't watch.

I'll fix. And I'll try, and I'll try, and I'll roll with the punches as they come. I think I threw my first punch today. My only real punch. Let it be the only real punch. Please.

I'll tell it straight. I ran. Once the full reality of what I've done traced its cold finger down my spine, I _ran._

No, I didn't run. I sprouted wings in my brain and they cursed at me and told me that I could fix this. So I got up with those wings whispering in my head, and I guess they lifted, and I'll tell you this... I don't run, and I don't sprint.

I fucking _fly_.

And before questioning fingers are held up, and the science books are dug out to be studied to state to me that humans cannot in fact, fly, I will say this: There is no gliding. No swimming in the clouds, and no angel wings. You don't have to _fly_ to fly.

You have to want to. You have to want to get somewhere so bad that your lungs go to sleep, and your cardiovascular system takes the day off, and you're running on one thing, and one thing only. Need. And I want to make things right. No, I need to make things right. So.

So I am a monster. I'm a bird, I'm an animal, I'm a killer for his semi-Existant love. If the Phys-ed teachers could see me now. I'd be on the news. I'd be the new forest gump. My face would be ink in the books. People are looking at me. They watch my feet that quietly become wheels or cheetah toes, circling into grey blobs of motion just barely grazing the pavement.

I'm knocking over trash cans, and I'm thinking about him. My feet are blistering, and I'm wondering if he's okay. Those blisters break, and the little pink pools on the bottoms of my feet burst, and I bleed, and I run, and I fly, and I do this for hours. I don't know how long its been now. Feels like seconds, and could be days.

I don't know. I don't know a thing but the way home and what I'm to do when I get there. And I'm in fact so currently brainless, that when home approaches, I almost don't approach it back. I almost run past and look for him even more, but he's right there inside. I know he is. And I can't tell you how I know this because I just can't. But I know.

Anyone looks out the window from across our flat right now, and they'll find themselves with a scene from something like a movie. I'm climbing those grey steps like I'm climbing the tallest mountain. And I'm shivering like it too. I dig for my key with two fingers that chop stick the little silver bugger, and pull it up to the door, because I know he's locked it. Again. I know.

But that door smiles wide open and lets me in. No key needed. It's not locked... And when I get to the living area... I'll admit I was wrong. Noodle isn't worrying on the sofa. No concerns about why Murdoc's just blazed through the door an hour ago with his rage spilling into every corner of the place. No fire. No blood.

But a small by comparison man lazily gripping a smaller by comparison remote. Lounging so far into his comfort that I fear he might drip into the sofa and never come out. Translucent. Almost serene. It must be a party trick. And it must have me fooled, because I ignore it and open that shaking hole in my face.

"I'm sorry." My chest ache rises with every syllable. "'I- I'm so sorry, but you- you have to..."

Sorry is all I can manage. The whimper in my tries for voice has made that quite clear. But it's still audible. That's why it hurts when he doesn't look. Doesn't even turn. Just seems to hum eerily. No. That's just the TV. He makes nothing like noise. Not at all. This trick isn't funny, and I'm falling for it, because I just come up next to him and seat myself on this sunken sofa. I sort of explode. And if Noodle or Russ hears? Whatever. Let them.

"This is all my fault, and- I- I'm not gonna' act like it's not, okay?" My voice quakes with the invisible crying again. "But- but you have to believe me here, okay? You have to understand me, because you _know..._ I know you know... That I wouldn't do that. She grabbed me, she was fucking totaled, and thought it'd be cool to just try and drown herself in my mouth, and I got stuck in something for a moment, and than you came out, and I-... I think I'm losing my mind, I'm... God.. I..."

"2D."

The word is a verbal kick in the balls. 2D. Not Stuart. Not tuss. Not stu. 2D.

"No, Murdoc." I still fight because I already know I'm losing, I'm bleeding us dry right here, right now. "I know it looked bad, but no, _no_, I just... Please, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm-"

"It's okay."

You'd expect a _What?!_ from me. Anybody would. Hell, I did. But I just tremble under his words. He still won't look at me. Only the TV. He looks at that thing like it's going to do his laundry, and wake him up for his radio shows, and toy around with him in the shower... But he also looks at it like it didn't kiss Paula Cracker. I begin to feel like he'll never look at me again.

When his lungs shift out some air, I nearly jump. "It's... Whatever."

_No. _It's not whatever. He knows its not whatever, and I know it's not just whatever to him. That's why something is wrong here. I get up. I pace. I'm going ballistic in my own mind.

"Wh- Why?" I ask. "Why aren't you hitting me? Why aren't you- I don't know, cleverly calling me out on all of this? Why aren't you looking at me? Why won't you... Why won't you hate me?"

Nothing. I'm in front of him, and his eyes are on me, but he's not looking at me. And he's sure as hell not speaking to me either. Just wearing that same mask he's been wearing since the second he caught me tasting peaches and cigarettes. In a huff moment, my body catches up with me. I've never been so tired in my life.

So I collapse to his right on the sofa, and I die in the arms of the pink leather while he surfs the tube. I just breathe. And think. And die a little bit. And think again. Something to say.

"If I just ran four miles for you to say two words."

"The weather was nice today. Snow seems to have lightened up." He speaks in a cellophane voice. Plastic. Almost prerecorded.

"You hate talking about the weather." I remind him. "That doesn't count, and I know this is still my fault, so I'm not going to turn this on you, but I really hope I didn't just develop and pop three foot blisters for you to give me some phony small talk garbage."

He doesn't even shut an eye. And I swear to god that he's not breathing right now. Something is so wrong. Something is so sickeningly wrong, and I won't take it. I think of ways to fix him, and when my head gives no search results, I go for the gold. Just trying something. Delicately interlacing my cold fingers into his.

I can't even tell if they're warm or not because he swats mine away so quickly. I pull them back and they burn with rejection. That was a test. And to see it failed brings non-existant tears to my eyes.

"What's up?" I whisper. Like I care if anyone hears. But I feel like it needs to be whispered this way. "Why are you doing this? Please... Just forgive me or don't. Say something. You're scaring me... Say anything...Why are you being like this?"

And he turns his neck so stealthily that I almost don't see it happen. He looks at me for what seems like the first time in years. I watch his lips begin to move, as they become my favourite film.

"I really... don't care anymore."

"...Huh?" It's all I can say. It's all I can think, because I don't understand. I don't understand when he turns away and gets up to go. And I still don't understand when I tell him this.

"I don't understand..."

Only now will his face change so subtly. Such a subtle look of betrayal. Still that of a sad mannequin. But still, he looks at me like I'm the ugliest I've ever been.

"You really don't get it, 2D?" He all of the sudden gets real matter o' factly. Lowers his eyebrows and all. "You really can't comprehend this?"

No. I shake my head for no. So, I feel like his story begins.

"You know, I'm putting the coins in here..." He shakes his head. Speaks quietly. "And sometimes I get things back, but sometimes I don't. Most times, that machine screws me over, and SOMETIMES I catch that machine with its face six feet into a raunchy bar fly. So you know what?"

His analogy catches up to me. What, Murdoc? What? I can't answer you... So just speak. Say it.

"I don't care anymore."

That hit me. And it hit me so hard that I become a firework on the inside, and my pieces explode and they fall everywhere, and I don't know where they are.

"I... I told you!" I get up again. Like it will help. "She kissed me! I told you, I'm sorry, and I didn't want this to happen, I never wanted any of that to fucking happen!"

He looks dumbfounded. absolutely struck in the arse by my apparent stupidity.

"Than why didn't you push her off?"

This is what hooks me. This is what pushes me to hate myself again.

"I don't know."

He shakes his head. I want to punch that head when he does it, but I want to kiss it, and love it, and tell it I'm sorry.

"You don't know..." He scoffs painfully. "Tell you what... When you do know, go ahead and write me a letter and slip it under my door. Maybe that will kiss it better, huh?"

"I'll write a letter." I shrug. Try to joke. It's not working. "I'll kiss anything better, I promise, just-"

"Go to hell..." He's halfway to the stairs now,and we're fading fast. In his mind, we're already faded. In mine, there's still a glimmer of hope in the rotting pool of whatever we have now.

"Wait... Wait, please..." I'm begging him to please, please stay. "I can exp... Listen, I'm done making these stupid excuses..."

Aha. Now admitting to my excuses? That triggers something, and it turns his head ever so slightly.

"She kissed me..." My breath quakes in cold confession. "And... I think I kissed back... Because I don't know."

"Well. Okay. Wonderful. Fuck you." He wants to leave again. I don't want him to.

"But do you really think it meant anything?" I become hurt. Yeah,_ me_, you know, the one who basically cheated_ him_. And I give off a hurt look as if I deserve to be hurt. I don't. "Do you really think that?"

"I don't know what to think..."

"Well..." And my chest trembles again. "Think about this."

And when I fly into him, he doesn't taste like peaches. He tastes like bourbon, and cigars, and men, but I never wanted peaches. I wanted this tongue, not hers. I want his face in my cold feelingless hands like it is right now. And I want it to go smooth, and I want him to be okay with me kissing him like this. I never wanted him to jerk away... Never wanted him to push me away and wipe my spit from his mouth like a bad stain. Am I your bad stain, Murdoc?

"Stop..." He huffs. So uncomfortably. So bothered. He staggers away and darts me down with his finger. "Just stop it, okay? Damn it..."

"I'm sorry." My voice grows so desperate as I follow him down the hall. "I love you, okay?"

"Quiet down."

"No!" I'm now comfortably loud. Also dangerously loud. "Why do you care what they think? We're messing things up as we talk, god damn it, let's just be alright, okay?"

"2D, I'm getting REALLY FUCKING PISSED RIGHT NOW. Just... just stay away, alright?!" Is that... Is that fear? What? Murdoc, you're not scared, are you?

"It's okay..." I softly approach him. "Please... Let us be okay..."

I've been down before. Socked down. Never like this. His fist, a meteor into my eye. My body smacked to the floor. I'm forced to ask how many times this has happened. How many nose bleeds? How many bruised backsides? How many tens of twenties of black eyes? Just another to the collection. Somehow different.

I'm just his broken toy. And he looks at me with more fear than I've ever seen in one place.

"Fuck, 2D!" He shouts in this whisper. This scary scary whisper. "I told you to stay away... I told you- I told you I wouldn't hurt you anymore... But you make it so damn hard."

And out of one eye which isn't swelling with pain and something else unknown, I watch him slip away up the stairs. Just pixie dust in the wind. A magic trick.

All I heard was him not needing me anymore_._A I don't climb those stairs, and I don't knock that door down and demand forgiveness, and I don't kiss his toes and beg for it either. This is what I do.

I stomp. I hold my head, and my swollen eye, and I hold back screams. I bite my tongue. I taste blood. I wish for him. I plead for him. I start to apologize again. I call his name all over the city in my head. And I ask myself so many whys that they fill up my head and begin to kill each other.

_Why did you let her kiss you?_

_Why didn't you push her off?_

_Why don't you go chase him up the stairs?_

_Why don't you say you're sorry again?_

_Why did you leave plastic beach_

_Why did you let things be this way?_

_And where is your mind?_

He has it. He's got it up there, somewhere. And he's got my heart in the backseat of the car, and he has me, and he won't give me back, in a way.

As I leave the house for no reason other than to count the times I've let things like this happen, and sulk, and wilt in the winter air, I hear the floorboard upstairs creak. And I think of how sort of beautiful it is that we have creatures like this in the world. And I think of how if I don't do something, those creaks will never be mine again. No more noises for me. No words. Nothing. Such a small thing to be without. And so big.

There goes my pixie dust in the wind.

Now I see him.

Now I don't.

**AN: Don't be sad for long. I won't leave you in a bad spot :P Haha, well thanks for reading! **

**So, what did you think? Go on and tell me! ;)**

**Thanks again!**


	60. 60: How to Lose a Guy in Six Seconds

**Chapter 60: How to Lose a Guy in Six Seconds**

The splitting headache isn't the worst part. The worst bit is actually_ waking up_ and letting myself believe for a short moment that the bitter twisting in my stomach is the result of a _bad, bad_ dream. The yelling and fighting? Just a harsh soundtrack.

Then I feel the bruise. Tender to the touch of my still cold fingers, and offering fresh baked memories. Like this little picture, a brand new fact if you will: Murdoc doesn't care anymore.

I'm not sure what that means. But It doesn't have to be crystal clear to sting you, now does it? And it makes me cringe at the thought. That I could toss his care away. Just like that. I think for a moment than maybe expelling a large groan might help. It doesn't.

"_Are you alright over there_?_Taste that air, why don't you? It's beautiful out today."_

I'm still in that after-sleep state where every word given to me is a tired echo, but I'd have to be even more of an idiot not to know that this is Noodle speaking. I stretch and come together in tired little shards. A few missing.

"Where are we, and how did you get into my hovercraft?"

She laughs at my joke which was honest to god, half serious. But her bubbly giggle pops into my ears, and it's a drug that renders me okay for a few seconds.

"If you must know, Russ and I found you bordering on a gin coma, in your _"hovercraft"_ this morning. He would have came along too, but he's not quite small enough to fit smaller though. Apparently junk food is good for that. Sort of a reverse "_green vegetables help you grow"_ effect."

I'm close to asking where we're _going along _to, when It hits me that I haven't opened my eyes yet, so I might as well do that at least. Only when the coffee stained, wrapper decorated interior of my car becomes recognizable, does it finally come together that we're driving somewhere. _She's_ driving somewhere.

The girl behind the wheel is a pretty mess of hand me downs and sunshine, potted at the feet by orange rain boots, and enclosed by my old striped jacket that kind of makes her look like an old time inmate or something. But even still, cute. Even still, Noodle.

"So you didn't just wake me up or nothing?" I ask. She ignores. "You just decided to stash my body in the front seat and go for a joy ride?"

"Sure. Why not?" She shrugs striped shoulders. "You looked content. And anyways, you can't spend your whole life ignoring me. Or Russel, for that matter."

I frown, and with that become the bad guy.

"You don't think that, do you love?"

"Honesty is important." She breathes deeply, and nods at the windscreen. "So honestly, yes. I'm not trying to make you feel bad, 2D. It'd be immature of me to sit here and whine at you for not spending enough time with us, so I'm taking the initiative, and kidnapping you for the day. Sound good?"

"Yeah, alright." I nod in hopes that if I've hurt her or something, this might make up for it. "Sorry about that, or what not. Can I ask you where we're going?"

"If I knew, I promise I'd tell you."

"So you don't know?" She answers with a slow shake of her head, and I leave it at that. We don't need to talk, because the sun has fully brought itself out for the first time in days, and the sky is blue and clean, and that's enough to fill the gaps that the lack of words leaves.

It becomes much more clear that she really doesn't know where we're going. Her eyes seem to show her thinking harder. The way she narrows them at every turn she makes. Looking for something that neither of us really know.

When the car rolls to a final stop, it's not in the half clean parking lot of a decent coffee shop. No family quaint bistros, or towns end bakerys. We stop in front of a putrid little fishing boat dock on the edge of anywhere alive.

"Pair of Lice Piers." Is the only information about this place that she gives me. "actually it's _Paradise piers_, but it feels more like a _Pair of Lice piers_, to me."

"Well, there ain't really anything paradise like about it." I would laugh, but that means breathing in even more of this air, which makes me think this place may have been more honest to the name _I smell like dead fish and hookers_ pier.

I don't ask her why we're here. It feels rude, and heaven knows I've been rude enough already. We just board the dock without questions from neither of us, and the smell pokes at me, but I don't answer it.

Don't get me wrong, this is nice. I miss Noodle, and my problems with Murdoc aren't going to cloud that, but they will however, cloud my mind. I can't really explain this. But it's hard to walk. It's hard to talk. Hard to breathe, sort of... When you know how much you've ruined.

"Was Murdoc up yet when you left this morning?" Damn. There I go again. I one thumb and twiddle the other in the wait for her answer.

"I mean, it's not like I hadn't tried to get him to go with me." Her words fog the cold air. "He was already awake, so that was pretty strange. And you want to know something weirder, though?"

Ofcourse I do. How could I not? I nod.

"Usually when we disturb him in his room so early like that, he'll get real nasty real fast. He's Murdoc, of course he's going to be nasty in the morning... But he was just... I don't know if sad is the right word? No. Just gloomy. Not angry gloomy... But just... Gloomy."

"I'm sure he's alright." A slippery fib escapes my pursed lips. I'm not actually sure if I'm lying to her, as much as I'm lying to myself.

She narrows her eyes. A cat on the prowl for something fishy, besides this air. "Maybe."

She doesn't believe me. I don't believe me either. After that, we don't talk for a small while. This silence is different. Some of them can be comfortable, I've said that before... This one is not. The docks creek, and they call me a liar with every shrill crack that brittle wood makes. The snow is dripping from the dirty docks, into the dirtier sea. Everything here but Noodle and the sky is dirty. I am no exception.

That's what I'm thinking about when she stops, and plants the bottom of her clean blue skirt to the edge of where the dock seems to become less disgusting. She makes it less disgusting, I think.

She gestures for me to come sit, and I do. I'll tell you, it would be beautiful, this oceanic plain or whatever. I'm sick of beaches. I'm sick of sand, and water, and oceans. If I have to set foot on another beach, I'm going to start a full blown riot with picket signs, and protesters, and all of that. Noodle breathes. Catches me by surprise. I missed her. Alot. The ocean right now, is okay.

"How's your eye?" She asks.

For a moment, I don't know, because I forgot that he hit me. I forgot that I wasn't the only one who made some bad moves last night.

"S'alright." I mumble. Almost ask her how her eye is, but it's so buried beneath caked on skin. Stupid makeup. A very silly thing to do. If anything, it makes her look more tough. She hates it though, so we keep shut about it.

"Would it be out of line if I asked you if Murdoc did it?"

"Uh... No?" I bite my lip. As if it might help. "Not completely..."

When I tell her that, she looks pained. Her head sinks, and her eyes close, and her teeth slightly clench.

"This really isn't okay." She sighs a sigh that seems to large for her frame. "You're a human being, 2D, and he can't... He can't... Damn."

"Don't say damn." I nudge her, only half seriously.

"I'm _twenty two _years old."

"My arse, you are."

"I'm _serious_." Now she drops us into a whisper. It gets serious... I don't like it. "He beats you like a dog, and we never should have sat back and let it happen. It's not funny, and it never was, so don't treat it like a joke."

I just kind of... Dwell in my own little bubble. She watches me, and I play with my fingers because I'm not sure of what else there is to do. I don't need to believe this. I can't.

"You know,I love Murdoc." She sighs. "And I love you, and Russel too. So it's hard to sit back and watch one of you go... almost insane, with power or something. I think he needs help."

Correction, _I_ need help. _We_ need help. We're screwed up, and over, and down the middle, and there's virtually nothing to do but lie about it and let it get worse. Nothing to do but swing my feet back and forth, and watch the ocean beneath me, and think about all the . Wait again. Wait forever.

"What... What do you think, 2D?"

Well that's quite a question. I think a lot of things, dear. You'll have to be more specific.

"Think about what?"

My stomach, somewhere inside of me, is doing a very tasteless dance as I feel her question creeping up on me. Yeah, I can feel it. I don't know what it is, but it's been following me for a long time, and waiting for the right moment to sneak up behind me.

"What do you think of Murdoc?"

I could throw up right now. I could throw up out a cocktail of nerves and fear, and I could throw up a slew of answers. My brain twitches. I sweat. Try to keep normal. Have to be normal. What do I think of Murdoc? Everything.

"I don't know." I shrug it off, just like that. "He's my friend, you know? He's violent, sure, but we're all in weird places right now."

I'm not an actor, but that little performance will have to do. She may believe it, and she may not. I can't tell, because I can't look at her.

"...Are you sure?"

She knows. She's in my brain, stalking the corners, investigating my memories, checking my search history-brains don't have a search history, I'm panicking, I'm not panicking, keep calm, keep calm, keep calm...

"Sure uh... Why wouldn't I be?"

"I saw the tour clips from seattle."

_"I saw the tour clips from seattle"_

_Saw... Tour clips... Seattle._

Wake up, Stuart. You've lost.

Snap, and I'm done. We lost. We weren't careful enough. It's over. She knows. They all know. And it was so quickly done, too. So quietly uttered. Quiet and fast, the words left her mouth, and they left me something like alone. However... I try.

"Seattle? Oh yeah, seattle was crap. Rude people, rude uh.. tour guides. Maids. Didn't like it."

"2D, I said I saw the tour clips."

Didn't work. Why isn't this working? He's going to kill me. He's going to pull my fucking intestines out of my ears. I'm sorry. I didn't... I... didn't mean to... _fail _you.

"It's_ okay_." She tells me softly. Too softly.

"Noodle..." I laugh. Try to laugh. It's so fake. I'm so fake. "I know, it looked pretty bad, but you have no idea how wasted I was... And those stupid pirates, you know? They'd gotten him, and he got back, and it was relieving, but they're put away somewhere or something, so it's alright now."

"Pirates?" She gets all worried like, now. "What are you talking abou- what? Listen to me, whatever happened... You don't need to tell me. I just need you to know that it's okay-"

"Nothing happened." I shake my head, and I shake this away with more fake laughter. "I told you. Drunken mistake. Got a good kick in the arse for it, too. Don't worry about me."

"Do you love Murdoc?" She asks so simply.

Do you love breathing?

"No." I lie. I lie so hard, and it's crumbling. You can hear it in my voice. "What, do you think I'm some sort of fruit or something? He's my friend."

"It's okay if you do." She grips my shoulder softly. Her stubby fingernails digging into my shirt. I remember his fingers. I wonder what they're doing at this exact moment...

"Well I don't."

"Are you sure?"

"Yup."

"Okay than." She peeps too brightly. Too easily. I'm not off the hook. I'm so far on the hook that the fish are getting jealous, if that makes any sense. Not really. It doesn't matter. This isn't the time for jokes.

"Really?" I ask. "No more interrogation."

"I was hardly interrogating in the first place." She crosses her arms in slight offense. "I was just making sure you know that if that in fact, was the case, you'd still be the same to me."

I can't lie. Sitting here, in the warm or maybe coldish weather, our arses in a tango of mud and sand and dead snow... I feel nice for a moment. For the first time, I kid you not, in all of this time. I feel almost... Well... I'm not ashamed?

"Not trying to dig nothing back up, but uh..." I quiver inside my cold little shell. "Why did you wanna' know?"

She looks at me with what I thought at first, was shame. But it's something sad. Something empty. Something worried.

"Do you know how terrible it feels to be in love?" She asks me. Darts into me with little green fountains of eyes. "Because I don't. But I assume it's pretty bad, because every day people are litteraly DYING because of it. I didn't want that to happen to you... Because I... Well... I..."

"Go on..." I gesture the words out of her mouth.

"I swear, I can feel you breaking."

"...Oh." I barely say. If she only knew how right she was. "..Oh."

If there was much more to say, I would say it. Has this been avoided? I don't know. But I do know, that Noodle is a brilliant girl, and somewhere below the surface, she knows. I don't think I care. Maybe I feel safer knowing that she might know. But I'd feel safer even, If I shoot for a change of subject.

"You know, I have something of yours..." I gently rub her back, and she's warmer than me. Don't get any ideas here. Noodle is the sister I never knew I wanted. Maybe a mother, at times.

"Really now?" She asks. Somewhat interested.

To be honest, I stop. I've been waiting for a while, because I felt like that box belonged to me now. It was my little piece of her, but all of her pieces have been newly restored, so I guess... I don't need it anymore.

"It's at home." I awkwardly scratch my head. "But it's uh... You remember that little box you'd told me to hang onto? That one with the painted birds, and flowers? You'd told me to hang onto it for you, just before the whole... thing."

Her eyes search with her mind for a moment, before she nods. "Yeah, I think so. You mean Herman Saglicci's box?"

"Herman Saglicci?" I ask, probably sounding utterly stupid. "Who's he?"

"A box carving specialist." She shrugs at its unimportance. "I was supposed to pose with it and get my picture taken, but some things got out of hand as you know, so I gave it to you to hold. I didn't want to just throw it off the island, it was a beautiful box. So I gave it to you to hold."

...oh...

"Uh... 2D?"

... oh. I'm going to do myself a favor and not rupture a blood vessel and explode all over this area. Unimportant. Stupid box. Stupid, stupid box thing.

"You know what, nevermind." I huff it off, and she goes back to just looking out there at the water. But not a longing look. More like she's happy. Satisfied with the end of her journey. Dear god, I hope so.

"You'll..." She quietly opens her mouth. "You'll always be my big brother thing... right?"

"As long as you keep going on being my little girl."

She smiles, and it helps. I still love Murdoc, and I'm still an idiot, and this needs to be fixed so bad, but for a moment again, I let it last. She catches me though. Catches me slipping out of it for a moment. And do you want to know what she does?

"Happy." she says, and takes the corners of my mouth with her hands, dragging them upward into a forced smile.

Old habits die hard. Friendships die harder.

_/

Ten thousand something seconds after Noodle takes us home, I start thinking.

And ten thousand and something one seconds after Noodle takes us home, I have a solution.

Paula. The name stings my brain, and tastes bad on my lips, but I think it, and I'll say it too. I need Paula. Not in the way that sounds like, oh god, of course not. But I mean... She can fix this. No, I can fix this, and she can put in her two cents because she's the one who fucked us over in the first place.

She needs to tell Murdoc that I wasn't into it.

I mean, you can tell when someone isn't into kissing you. Because you're all _Mwahh _and they're all _Getoffgetoffgetoff!_

Forgive me, this thinking binge has been fueled by two and a half cans of "_Nutkickr energy drink",_ which should really be called "_Piss coloured crack supplement in a can"._

And so the side effect is, this might actually be a really stupid idea, and I'll have no damned idea. Who cares? Do it for love! Do it for sex! Do it for him! Do it for _NutKickr piss coloured crack supplement in a can energy drink_!

That is what the crowd in my head is screaming as I knock on the door of the devil herself, who really isn't all that bad, except yes she is. And hey, she doesn't look half bad for a phsycotic bitch.

"Christ." Her narrowed eyebrows speak for her, though she talks just fine. "Listen, I've got one hell of a hang over, and the likes of you isn't helping much-"

"I need you to tell Murdoc that I wasn't into it when you kissed me."

She only looks pissier. Who'da thought?

"Urgh... Why?"

"Because..." I stumble over files of excuses in my head. "He thinks I still like you, and he's being awfully rude about it. It's getting quite a bit annoying, so it'd be killer if you could put a stop to it."

Listen to me and this crappy attitude. And even when I'm being good, she just looks even more so confused and angry.

"Okay kid, you're giving off some really confusing vibes."

Confusing vibes? Me? Check yourself, Pauline.

"What are you talking about?" I ask. "Last night, remember? You was all piss drunk, and so we tried to drive you home, and you just decided to mack on me in the car or whatever."

She smirks like she has a reason to. "Really? Is that what you think happened? Cute."

"Cute what? Am I missing something here?"

"Yeah." She mumbles. "You're missing the fact that you wasn't too sober either, punk. I'll admit, I wasn't in the best of it either, but at least I knew I was drunk."

My face gets hard, or at least I hope it does. I just want her to know I'm pissed."I wasn't drunk."

"Like hell you wasn't."

"I really don't get what you're trying to bring up here." I roll my eyes at her in all of her childish glory.

"Really. Well, keep that in mind the next time you kiss a girl and forget that it was even you who kissed her in the first place."

I get cold all of the sudden. Here's the thing: It's warm outside.

"I didn't kiss you." My voice shakes as she just shakes her head back.

"2D, what would be my benefit from lying to you about this? Ask Murdoc. Apparently he's seen."

And when she shuts the door, is when I finally piece things together.

It was still never Paula's fault.

It was mine. This is why he didn't believe me. This is why he wouldn't forgive me. I get it now. So clear. So foggy too.

How to lose a guy in six seconds:Kiss Paula cracker.

And I can still see that look of mistrust in his eyes.

**AN: Thank you, my dears! I hope you're all not too mad at me for making bad things happen :P I'd like to thank all of my new reviewers, and the old ones too! I really love all of you, and the email adresses aren't showing up in reviews :P So if you'd like to give them to me, go ahead and PM them!**

**Oh, so what did you think? Go ahead and tell me :)**

**OH BY THE WAY! Thank you gorillazobsessor for your AMAZAZING picture, which resides here: art/So-Many-Whys-356140432 Check it out, guys!**

**Thanks so much!**


	61. 61: Be Okay

**Chapter 60: Be Okay.**

I don't move.

I don't even flinch.

And I don't even flinch for two whole days. I become a part of every wall in every hallway that I happen to see him in.. I'm half invisible. Half gleaming with ripe guilt. A neon sign reading _DIRTY CHEATER._

The worst part? I'm sorry. I'm so unspeakably sorry, and guilty, and ashamed, and this is so bad because what's being guilty if you can't admit it? What's being sorry if you can't apologize? What's the point of having a mouth if you can't open it to clean your messes? If I apparently love this guy "_so extremely much"_, why is it so hard to admit to my fault? Is any of that so hard?

Trick question. No. And yes, yes, yes. Now.

We are not silent, and we are not awkward stumbling fools, or bitter, bitter enemies. We are normals with secrets, just like everybody else. Every other damned liar and cheater and crier and beater on this planet. Excuse my rhyme.

"And apparently, they're releasing a pair with Murdoc's_ face _on them. No, I'm not kidding. His whole _face_." Noodle spews out some of the usual morning _blah-blah _garble in between spoons of the usual morning _blah-blah_ cereal.

"Why on this green earth, would you pay hard earned money for someones face, on your feet? Who's looking there?"

She's right. If I do happen to come across some innocent fan sporting Murdoc's face so casually printed on their sneakers, I can guarantee myself that I won't look much longer. And not just because it's hard to look at him in any form. I'm sure there are other reasons.

"Well, that should make him happy anyway." She holds up my end of the conversation with an awkward shrug. "I figure this whole "_do your whatzit"_ recording has got him twisted up in plenty of ways. Give or take his little radio show."

It's hard to feel bad for not being able to say anything. Just glaring into the empty spot where there might be a cereal bowl, if I was in such a mood to eat. Toying with his keys that he left on the table. I put them away into my pocket for reasons that I can't really find.

She's trying so hard to keep this conversation hard, and I'm falling down with it. I shift a little. Just a little. Less than you might think. I think it scares her. Like she thinks I was dead until now. I'm not dead. I'm very much alive in all of the right senses, and dead in all of the wrong ones. I guess. Still, a half dead man can talk.

"Shooting the video might be uh... interesting, though." She slightly grimaces at my words. I join her in that as my tone grows ill. "Considering it's... erm... Hidden camera shot."

"It's just odd." Her opinion releases like it's been waiting to be free for a long time.

"Can't they at least tell us _when _they're going to shoot it? Or what they'll record us doing on said cameras? And why that makes such a good music video? Let's all just admit it, it's odd. Maybe _this_ is why Murdoc is leaving. Secret fear of hidden cameras, maybe, I don't know."

It passes through my thick skull at first. It whizzes through aisles of dreams and thoughts and memories, and I don't think twice about it. The second time it rings in my head, is when I catch it.

_Maybe this is why Murdoc is leaving. _

_This is why Murdoc is leaving_

_Murdoc is leaving. Murdoc is leaving. MURDOC IS LEAVING, ASK HER WHAT'S UP!_

"Sorry, sorry, I must have uh... Let you slip me for a second..." I cough desperately into my hand. I don't even know how I can cough desperately, but don't doubt me when I say I do. "Did you say Murdoc is leaving?"

"Not_ forever_. Preferably." She stirs that spoon, and she stirs the inside of my head. "He's been... sort of jumbled, if you will. Said he needed some time. Thinking of spending some time away."

Time? And... away? How long is _time?_ And just where is away? I wonder, and my eyes grow three times their normal size, and I stop wondering, because the more I wonder, the more my fingers shake, and the more I shake with them. And I remember again, with the sound of these little bells in my head, that this is because of _me._

_"_When did he say this?" Is what I ask. It's not what I'm thinking, but it's all I can really throw out.

Wait. Stop. Noodle.

I notice now, that she looks just as sunken as I feel. Her bruise is outlined by stress. Her eyes, heavily cloudy and bagged. Her skin, gently greying, and becoming almost see through. That is, if she was grey on the inside. I wouldn't doubt it.

"A few days ago." Words float from her lips, and they catch me. They feel cold. This is when I realize that I'm not alone. I'm ruining her. I'm ruining them. I'm ruining myself._I am destroying Murdoc._

Why it took me this long to get up from the grave, I'll never know. I get up at first without knowing it, and the table rattles, and Noodle asks me where I'm going but I don't hear anything. All I can hear is my head yelling at me. Because it took me two days to even begin to notice something. No, to realize something. I'm not hurting myself. Put away the plates, and end the pity party, big shocker here! I've been spending so long feeling sorry for myself, and thinking about how sad I am, and whining, and being the delicate one, and blah, blah, blah.

But no one _ever said_ that only one of us could get hurt. I am not the fluffy pink center of this relationship. I can be just as sharp as him. I have been. These days are living proof.

There's no running, but I'm so close to it that I can feel my feet warm up at the palms and beg me to sprint, because my head is telling them to. For some reason, I can't. I'm taking these stairs one at a time, and I know he can hear the stairs creek beneath my feet. He may not want to, but he hears me. I don't even want to hear me because I don't want to believe that I'm doing this.

If I'm ever going to do this before the bravery swelling in my chest pops, I'm going to have to hurry. I quicken that pace, and I beg myself to stop, and I beg myself to go.

I am a fucking confused street light. Stopping in the middle of the stairs. Starting up again. What am I going to say?

_I'm sorry I'm an arsehole, please don't leave us? Please don't leave me?_

If I had time for thinking, now _that _would be a thing. But I don't, because I've sped up, and I'm already at the door. And somewhere behind this slab of thick wood, I'd bet you my life he can hear me breathe. Hear me shiver. Hear me twist the knob... And hear that door swing open with the force of a guilty man. It swings open much harder than I expect. Harder so enough, that it knocks over a coat hanger on its way into the wall. Did it just squeak?

But this isn't my focus. If I had any focus. As if my heart wasn't sinking inside of me and drowning in my stomach. The spider on the wall of posters and stains, leans his back to end of a broken metal bedframe, and cradles a bass in his loose fingers. The spider on the wall has a name, and an actual soul beneath the grit, and maybe even feelings somewhere in there. And he has every right in the world to stare at me like that.

Wide eyes. His mouth, those overturned open drawers by his bed. There's so much surprise inked onto his usually blank face. He can't be that surprised, can he?

"I think I need to say something..." I trail off from heavy breathing as his eyes trail off somewhere just aswell. Not on me. He's not looking at me. He's looking at the fallen coat hanger behind the door. And he looks at me when I realize that isn't a coat hanger.

And I look at him when he looks at me realizing that the coat hanger was a bird pirch. The small drops sinking into the floor beneath the fallen pirch? Not tomato juice. That's one hundred percent pure bird blood.

I slammed the god damned door into the bird. And I think I've killed it. Not just any bird, no no. Not an average street pigeon.

More like _Cortez the fucking man eating psychotic death with wings raven_, bird. Or even more importantly. Murdoc's bird. Done away by my own hand.

When I realize what I've done, a spark hits my brain, and my eyes hit Murdoc. I decide between looking at him, and peeking at the bottom of that slammed door. And so the decision doesn't go very well, and I'm just this swivelling head stuck in a vicious cycle.

But I stop on him. And the shock runs clean into dangerous anger. Lips, pursed with thinning patience. And fire behind black eyes. I notice now, that the red one seems long gone. In this state though, they both seem to be on _fire._

Not a squawk in the air, the room has gone noiseless. But I can't really take that, now can I? I've been mute for two whole days, and than I kill a bird, so all of the sudden the quiet is uncomfortable? How does that work out? I choose to ruin it anyways, with the creaking of the door. And so gradually... like the pansy I am... I pull that door backward to reveal us the scene.

"Jesus christ..." I shutter at this little collage of broken bird. I feel it a little disrespectful to use _jesus christ _actually, seeing as Murdoc and Cortez are both honorary members of the Disciples of Lucifer pottery club.

I don't have much time to observe before Murdoc throws his things aside, and bumps me aside to see for himself. He just looks. Just cringes and watches his dead friend be... well...dead. It's the saddest thing... Because I'm just watching him be angry, or sad, or mournful or what not.

And... I killed the thing. Really? You come to apologize, and you kill his pet instead? Lovely plan Stuart, you deserve a prize.

"Fuck _me_." He hisses in a way that was aimed in no sexual way whatsoever. I don't think I would need to explain that, but he just scratches his head and gapes at the thing for a pure soundproof moment before picking up it's lifeless feathered shell like a sick child. And when I see it cradled all still like in his hands... When I... When I watch him look at what I've ripped away from him.

I become even less than I was before. I'm not an idiot. I'm not stupid, or bumbling... I'm just _cruel._

"Murdoc, I..." My head shakes with my words as I try to approach him. "I am so _so sorry, _I didn't think anything was in the way-"

"No." His words. They're so... _casual._ So normally spoken. It reaches a sort of level of creepy.

"No? What? Murdoc, I didn't mean to hurt him, It was an accident, I'm _sorry."_

"So I hit you in your face, I get it." He snaps up, and snaps out. "Boo-fucking hoo, I'm sorry, but that doesn't give you any right to come busting up into my _own_ _quarters_, and wedge the bird into a door hinge, now does it?"

"Uhmm... Well, no, but-"

"Than your answer is, _don't_ come busting up into my own quarters and wedge my bird into a door hinge, and I'm sure any other eventual tragedies will be avoided quite well."

"No, I, I didn't mean to-" He just shakes his head at me and holds up a free hand to signal _Stop right there and close your stupid face_. In this raw few seconds where I should really shut up, I look at that bird again. The only blood looks like it's come from his mouth, or beak, upon impact.

Murdoc lifts up one of his wings between two fingers to inspect. Too carefully. Gently enough, so that I can see that Cortez wasn't _actually_ really even a pet. I think I always knew that though. There's a defined difference between a friend and a pet. I think this right here is it.

Through twiddling fingers, and the roadblock of my fearshaken lungs, I ask him. "Is he... Alright?"

His face is more dumbfounded than angry. "Is he _alright_? I don't know 2D, you've broken his fucking neck, maybe he'll just get up and walk it off in a few minutes. No. He's_ not _alright."

"I didn't even know you still had him!" I explain, heavily with desperate hand motions. "I thought he flew away a while back, I don't know!"

"Well he flies back from time to time." Murdoc tells it like I should already know. "And apparently when he does, he's greeted with a door to the face."

"Murdoc, I'm _sorry_." I plead so desperately. I'm losing him as he quietly shakes his head. I'm losing him as his eyes stay glowered. By the time he opens his mouth again, I remember that he's probably already lost.

I wait for his acceptance. I know it's not going to come, because he won't even look at me. I stare at him, and he won't even turn his head to glance. The wall has become more tolerable than me, so he just looks at that because_ the wall _didn't kiss some drunk woman and kill his bird. You heard me. Even inanimate objects are better mates than me. In the second he opens his mouth again, I forget everything I wanted to say, and focus only on the words inside his mouth.

"Right, you know what? I've got to go..." He mumbles, pushing past me with that pathetic lifeless bundle limp in his arm. "See if he's still kicking round' somewhere in there... See the stupid veterinarians or something..."

"Murdoc... I don't think-"

"Exactly, you don't think, that's why we're in this situation in the first place." He walks away with the belief in him, that that bird is okay. The thought that some random miracle graced the world of birds today, and Cortez is okay.

He's not. I know it, and Murdoc knows it too. Only I think I've got to be the one to crack that realization over his head and let it spill into his brain.

"I'm really sorry" And than I build it up. Seconds are turning into days. But I don't have days. "I think he's gone."

"Oh, _I'm_ sorry." He spits back. "I didn't know you were a veterinarian."

"I don't have to be, to see he's got himself a _broken neck_." I chew my nails on those last words like it might soften this all. Big surprise, it doesn't.

When he looks at me, I'm every scum on the surface of this earth. I don't need his facial expressions to tell me that. The disaster man strikes again. I can see it in the headlines.

"Well isn't that a doozy?" He mutters without taking his eyes off mine for a second. I swear, it is the most uncomfortable thing... "Tell me 2D, how does it feel?"

I set myself up for disaster. Why not? Shoot. "How does what feel?"

"How does it feel to be a _walking fuck-up_?"

There is this second where I feel like that is the worst thing anyone could have ever said to me. And then it's not just a second. Then it's something like forever. I don't move because I'm hurt. Yeah, _I'm_ hurt. Me, of all people. _Why _does it hurt? Why would something so small, hurt like that?

Because it's true. And it feels true.

"It feels like you're right."

He looks at the bird, and it doesn't look back because it's dead. Dead doesn't look back. Dead dies, and dead stays dead. Like the the lump in Murdoc's arms. I did that. Me. And so, he carries the little lump of death to the foot of his bed, and he lays it there without looking back.

"I'd like it if you'd left now." He says. I don't hear it. At very least, I don't want to.

"I can't."

"Walk. Away."

"_No_." I softly protest. "I... I came here for something."

"Go." He sounds so final. This isn't the end. I won't let these be the last words. I wont let there _be_ last words. So I pull up my bravery, and zip myself inside of it. I suck in the air, and it tastes like bird blood and shame. I breathe it out, and my chest sinks deeper and deeper down until it is nothing, and ready.

"I came here to tell you that I kissed Paula." I barely say. Almost whimper. "And I came here to say that I don't know why, but it happened, and It's my fault, and I'm _sorry."_

Stop. Breathe. Don't cry. You don't need to cry. Don't ever cry.

"But I came here, and... And the bird died." I stop for a moment. "No, I _killed_ the bird. I did it. And I did it because that's all I'm good at, and you're right, I _am_ a walking fuck-up... You're right and all. It's not okay, none of it is fucking okay, and I'll say it fifty more times, I'm _sorry_."

Breathe again. It's okay. No... it's not. Pause. Go.

"But I... I came because I don't want you to leave. Noodle told me, so don't try and deny it... I admit it. I fucked up, I fucked up really bad, I kissed the gal, I killed the bird... But are you really going to stand here and think that I did that for any reason against you?"

He doesn't answer. I want one. I want him to tell me. He stays quiet. So incredibly quiet enough that I can hear my breath shaking.

"If you haven't noticed, I like you." I say. "I mean, I really,_ really _like you. I like you enough not to die, and I like you enough to risk dieing at the same time. You don't think I get scorned by priests on street corners? You don't think some of my old mates and relatives won't talk to me anymore?"

Breathe, breathe, breath in. Try not to faint. Try not to cry. Try not to everything.

"You don't think I wake up in the morning and _hate myself _sometimes?...But you know what? When I wake up, and I hate myself, you know who I don't hate? You. I always like you. I honestly don't think there's a thing you could do that could take away from that. I like you. God damn it, I thought you killed Noodle, and I still couldn't stop thinking about you. Couldn't stop liking you... Fuck it. Couldn't stop _loving _you."

No movement. Losing air. Shaking so much. I am an earthquake. All I ask for is a twitch, or a cough, or a ripple of sound in the air. I get nothing. Just the back of his head. My speech carries on. Weighing down my lungs. Ripping away my air and replacing it with tension.

"So you want to know how it feels? You want to know how it feels to be a walking fuck-up? It feels _great_. It's the most amazingly terrible thing in this whole damn world. I may be a walking fuck up, but I'm your walking fuck up, and that's all I 'wanna be."

Second, second, second. They pass, and with each one, we sink a little more. I sink a little more. As for him, I don't know. How that all just came out of me? I don't know, and I don't really care. It was the truth, and the lies ran away. So maybe that's a good thing.

"...You want to be my walking-fuck up?" He asks. That wasn't an offering. That was a statement. Clear as day.

"...Yeah." I say it, just so simply. After all of that, I just reply with a tiny little _yeah._ The tiniest of all yeahs. Quiet enough, to only be heard by maybe just the deadest of birds. In a way, we too are sort of the deadest of people. If you look at us.

I see his face for the first time in five years. Or five minutes. It's all the same now. The clock is just a piece of hard plastic. I'm just a piece of hard plastic. But I'm more or less than that when he looks at me. When he clenches his fists, and huffs out a breeze of gin stained air. And bites his lip. He's never done that before. I swear to god, he's never done that before.

"I think I need to go."

"For how long?" When I ask that... I can't say what it is. But he grows ten years older. The anger is almost wiped away, to leave something like sorrow. Some kind of pain. An oily pity based paint of sadness and endings smeared onto his face.

"Until I don't feel things anymore."

The tone in his voice says never. It tells me he'll be gone when I wake up, and he'll be gone every other day after that. It tells me that the credits have rolled. The screen is black.

Leave the theater. It's over.

"No." I blurt. So fast. Just a desperate word bullet. "Stay. You- you have to. Give me-... Give me another chance, I swear, It'll be okay. It's all going to be okay!"

"Tell you what, hire me a choir of homeless men, and maybe things will change." He tries to be funny, but he fails so hard, because this could never be funny. But I'm waiting for it to be. I'm waiting for this all to be a joke. I'm waiting for the hidden cameras, for the laugh track, for the solution.

Be okay. Please be okay.

"I'm sorry!" It's like tearless blubbering. I'm losing. I'm losing. I'm losing. "I told you, I'm sorry! Forget Paula, forget the bird, you know I didn't mean any of it, It's my fault. It's my fault."

"Stop." And so, he stops me. And he gets very close. Very quiet. Too serious. I'm still waiting for laughter. Go away, seriousness. Come again another day. I don't want it. But he gets close. And he gets quiet. And he gets closer. And he gets quieter, and quieter so.

"Please." He whispers. "Listen to me, and listen good..."

What are my choices? I listen. And I listen good.

"It's not going to be okay."

He doesn't let three seconds pass before he's gone. He mutters something before he leaves. Some tale or word about being back eventually. Key word here, eventually. Eventually could be never. Do... Do you want to know why I don't chase him? Yeah. Me too. But I don't know. My feet hurt. My legs hurt. My body hurts. Everything.

I can't move. It's some drug, I think. Some paralyzing drug. I can't even breathe. I'll go blue. I'll die here. I'll suffocate, I'll go down, I'll sink.

"2D..." He peeks back for a moment. There is so much false hope in that peek. So much false hope that I know for a fact is false, but I use it anyways because it's hope, and I need it, and I need him.

He nods, and I trace every dent and bit and bob in his face. "I like you too. But I like you in one piece... Be okay."

My false hope disintegrates with the closing of that door. _Be okay_. Coming from you. Huh.

ONE PIECE. HE THINKS I'M IN ONCE. PIECE.

I conclude that I am not a man. Because I cry again. Do you hear me? My "_boyfriend"_ broke up with me, so I fall to the ground and cry. Well, I don't fall to the ground, but I still cry.

"_Please."_ I mutter. Like by some miracle, he's still here. "_It'll be okay_."

But no. We slept like the ocean, and we talked like the rain, but we died like the lightning that struck it all and broke us. I still like him as he leaves. I still like him with every bit of my being.

Like him. No. Love him.

I love you.

I like you.

I love you.

I like you.

Be okay.

**AN: Okay, I'll admit, this was comiccon week, so It's a bit lazily done. I'm sorry it's so late! I totally love you guys for putting up with me. And it's not ending like this, so don't worry. Spoiler, I guess: THINGS WILL GET BETTER! :) Yes, plans, plans. Mwahaaa ;)**

**So, what did you think? Go ahead and tell me! Loving your feedback!  
Thanks!**


	62. 62: Memories for Sale

**Chapter 62: Memories for Sale**

**AN: This litteraly got deleted from my documents twice. I kid you not. This has been re-written twice. Blarg. Well, thanks so much for waiting! :) *curse my long chapters***

**February**

I'd hate to wake up again.

I'd _really_ hate to wake up again.

And excuse me if that sounded overly dramatic, because I assure you that is the last thing I want to be. That wasn't suicidal, and I don't wish to stay locked up sailing in my ocean of dreams, never to wake up again, or anything like that. No, I don't want to die. No, I haven't any reason to slice my own wrists and bleed out onto the dirty floor. But...

It's _so _incredibly hard to wake up cold when you're expecting the warmth of another.

And _Hey, where's Murdoc?_ I found myself thinking for a moment there.

Then that thought went stale. And my head went _Oh. Yeah. Right._

The headache this morning, is more of an annoyance, than a pain. One of the many bookmarked reasons I get headaches in the early mornings, is if I happen to wake up upset. It's actually a bit funny. When I was a little tike, me mum had this poster with one of them obnoxiously large yellow smiley faces, and the word _SMILE!_ printed underneath it in ironically threatening letters. I'm certain she copped it from a dentists office or something, but I'd wake up, and see it, and maybe be a bit happier, and thus: Less morning headaches.

The reason I say this is because Murdoc has become my morning smile poster. I'd wake up. Maybe I'd upset. Oh, there he is. And like that, I'd smile. Headache averted. But what's this? He's not here? Oh. Big shocker. Thanks for the headache, Murdoc.

My head is a broken tape player that skips the tracks of this morning. So in four seconds, or ten hours, I'm out of my cocoon and into the february streets, where everyone is rushing away to do something they don't care about, or living on the sidewalks because they gave up. I'm somewhere inbetween.

And what happens the morning and later, is a technicolour blur. And for even the biggest cash prize, I can't remember anything but key points on this mapped morning.

There was Noodle. and She was warm, and safe, and wonderful, and beautiful, and okay.

Saw Murdoc. That was hard. It always is, because I'm always stuck somewhere in between the courage to kneel to his feet and beg and cry, or run away in fear. I did neither, and he clubbed me in the skull with a shoe. No surprise there. But it hurts to see the change. One week you're laughing and talking and shagging and smoking.

The next your head hurts because you took a shoe to the skull.

Oh, and we can't stay here anymore. Whoa whoa whoa, what? Yeah, I know. It was a shock that I smiled to when I held the eviction notice this morning. Yeah, I smiled to it. Hell, I don't know why. Maybe it feels good to know I won't have to watch these halls rott in the sinkage of a forgotten band.

I'd smiled. And after this smile, I'd gotten in the car and bashed my head into the steering wheel. Not nearly enough to damage msyelf. Confusion got to me, that's all. While we're on that factor, this whole day hasn't really been first grade english.

Just a hot and heavy mess of confusion and exhaustion and lost lust all mixed about and splattered onto the ground everywhere I walk for me to slip on. And just 'Cause I'm coming up the walkway back home doesn't mean it's about to be any easier.

"Hey, bud." This lightning booms at me on my way in. Naw. It's just Russ up there on the room. Just above us, and just below the slowboat. I smile at the lump that seems to lay in his own crappy paradise. He smiles back. Wider so then mine.

"Hey, mate!" I paint him a happy picture with these styrophome words on my way in. He either ignores me, or can't hear me. No response. But he looks content. So I leave him that way. He deserves that content.

It's when my key fits so easily in the lock-like it actually wants to be there- that the realization comes over me that I've been gone for a clean ten hours. Or so. The watch that sags on my tree branch arm tells me this. And I think about that as the house takes me in. Not my arm, but that I've been out for so long.

It's weird, and hazy, and a bit heart quaking to think about, but there used to be a time where we were all always together, wasn't there? Whether we were all home at once, or spread out everywhere. But still together. Not flat mates like it seems now, but just a family in diar need of a counselor. Yeah. A family. An insane one. And there wasn't one thing that I didn't secretly love about it.

And now it's dark and empty and bursting at the corners with lonely echos.. Not just the flat, but the family, too. No ones home, but me, and Russ, who spends his time watching aeroplanes and clouds. And getting lost in them. And getting lost from us. The door shoos away any strand of light when I shut it, and so the hallways swallow themselves even more so, in this bitter dark. The entry light flips on at the touch of my will, and the light is on.

But it is _not_ in _any way _less lonely. So I huff out some air, that wants to be clean, but stays dirty anyway, and I force my feet to march away, but they only come down to the floor in lazy trudges.I don't mind. It gets me to the television. And when I fall to that eye endangering pink-mystery-leather sofa, I'm grateful for those lazy trudges. Work time retires. Fiddling with driving school cars is at least another fourteen hours away. I take a shift of my own time. Zap that television on. Keep the living area lights off. Just die in front of the television, and stay alive.

I'm five minutes into some phsyco-drama-romance flick, when my cell adds its own soundtrack. It glows aqua marine. It cries out in beeps. Does anything for my attention. I think of not answering it. Than I remember... Wait. Aren't I desperate for human contact right now? That solves that. I pick it up without checking who it is. Even if it's some telemarketer, I'm convinced I'm going to start an hour long conversation.

"Hey-uh... Hello?" I awkwardly switch from casual Joe to some other identity.

"2D? Good, you never answer your phone. I was afraid I wouldn't get to you..." I'ts Noodle. She is instantly a smile poster on my ceiling. And I smile in the partly illuminated dark.

"Hey little girl." I greet her. Almost laugh, too. Just needed to talk. "What goes on?"

"Well, I'd tell you, but you wouldn't believe me." She stops for a moment. "But I'll tell you anyways. My good amplifier fell off of a table this morning. Rotten luck, eh? So I was out on my way to get it looked at, and... Well, Murdoc lent me his car today so I could see about getting a job, yeah?"

"Stylo?" I ask. I can almost hear her viciously shaking her head.

"No. Oh_ god_, no. I don't think he'd trade that thing for his soul- oh. Uh. Forget that. No, he just lent me some beater he'd _borrowed _from a friend. We all know how Murdoc loves to _borrow_ things. But anyway, someones car bailed on the side of the freeway-"

"Jeez. They alright?"

"Oh, yeah."She assures me. "Just rotten luck, is all. Actually, the weird part is, the only that person happened to be Martina Topley Bird. You know, one of our demon days collaboration aritsits? Weird, huh? Well I guess she's in town, and we've got things figured out, but you see... Uh... I was supposed to pick Murdoc up from Kielsgrove Commons, since I've got his car, and all..."

"Uh..." I take a silent gulp to slow myself down. "You're not asking me to-"

"Would you maybe uhm... Want to pick him up for me?" The tone in her voice says _please, please, please._ And when I hear it, she becomes the little tike tugging my hand again. Begging to put off bed time.

_"Just I stay up more longer, Too-uh dee."_ I can hear the years slipping back.. I become _Too-uh-dee_ again. That little voice... That little lunchbox full of sunshine and toxic metal.

"Please." She draws out her word, and it stretches and snaps in my ears. I have to do it. I think if Noodle handed me a mini-gun and told me to kill the prime minister of neverland, I'd have a hard time refusing. No is a word I don't think I'll ever give to Noodle.

"Yeah, yeah, alright then." I groan. I tell you, I can almost hear her smile through the phone. "Where is he, again?"

"Kielsgrove Commons." She reminds me. You know, reminding as if I should already know. "It's a common-house, or flat building, or something. It's not too far up north. Half a mile out past the box manufacturing plant. You have that GPS your dad sent you, don't you?"

"Yeah." I mumble shortly, before switching topics. "I didn't know boxes had factories."

"Everything has a factory. Oh hold up, I think I found some jumper cables. I've got to go, but thanks for picking up Murdoc, okay?"

For a moment, I think of dragging this conversation on. Telling her about the eviction notice. Asking for what to do, because I really don't know. But I stop it. Just nod. Just nod, and pretend to smile.

"Yeah."

"Bye-bye!"

"G'bye."

I keep listening. Even as the line buzzes and gives me proof that there's nothing left to hope for. No "_Oh hold on 2D. I just remembered Murdoc pretty much dumped you, so you don't have to pick him up now. That'd be weird. How do I know? I have my ways..."_

But that didn't happen. This is real life, and more often than not, it will pull down it's trousers and screw you in the arse. I should get going. _Should _doesn't mean will. There is a literal ten minutes where I'm sitting here feeling sorry for myself. Just being the only guest at my pity party, besides the swooning broad on TV, who actually has her shit together.

And the only game at my pity party, is figuring out how I'm going to see Murdoc, and act completely normal without bursting into tears. The thought of it tumbles around in my stomach. It tumbles, and whirls, and sloshes around, just having a ball in my stomach acid and juices. Oh god. If I'm going to throw up, I should just do it now. No? Are you good, Stuart? No. I'm never going to be _good _again. We've been through enough hell to burn us eternally. I can pretend to be good. I'm a so-so actor.

It doesn't matter once I'm on my way. Nobody has to think things are okay with me. They don't have to see me either, so if I wanted to, I could cry and throwup and toss off all at once, and all they would see would be clouds dancing off tinted windows. I _don't _cry and throwup and toss off though. I just drive, and let the GPS talk to me. Even talk back to it once in a while. Isn't that just sad? I mean, not full on conversations... Nothing like, say-

_GPS: And when did you first start developing these altered opinions on your self outlook?_

_Me: It all started when it all ended..._

I chuckle at that. Yeah. I laugh at my own joke that I made _alone._ Pull up a dictionary, and look up _lonely prick_. I bet you the bottom of my feet, that you will find my picture. The ugly truth, I guess you could say, is that while I'm sitting here whining about being lonley... I'm making absolutley no effort to stop it. Whatsoever. Jesus, Stuart! Call your mum! Call your Dad! Hang out with Noodle, hang out with Russel, get a whore, call Paula, for Christs sake! Actually, no, don't do that... Forget it. Move on. Dispatch. Drive.

I pass the apparent "_Box Manufacturing Plant". _My friend, the GPS tells me something I don't understand, and I move on past bakeries and boulevards that all seem to have fallen asleep early under sick periwinkle skies. They're all little paintings and sculptures, these houses and trees and benches and happy folk are. Made to glance at as I roll by. I assume the inhabitants are happy. I assume they kiss, and they hug, and they sleep, and they love, and they die, and they don't think twice about it.

I know I'm wrong. I'd like to think people are made that way. That I'm a defect. That he's a defect. That theres a reason for this. There isn't. Defects don't get reasons.

_Kielsgrove Commons_

That's what the sign says. I call it a liar when I first see it. The name doesn't really go with the place. It's like an ugly foot in an expensive shoe. Doesn't fit. I won't say this place is a dump, but it's not really Buckingham palace. It's an average flat. The building is half of an H. Shaped that way, in the least. Two stories, with not much of a story to them. Dirty vanilla paint. Doors are in tact. I give it a C-minus. This is the sort of place Murdoc might meet a dealer, or a Whore (Ooh, that one hurts). So the shoe fits him.

I wait with myself and the crickets. They chirp. My fingers tap. Them and I make a lovely band. I call it _The sounds of waiting to be Awkward in front of your recently parted mate._ And my racing heartbeak joins them. Then, the sounds of my stomach flopping and flipping and sloshing nervously. The soundtrack to my anxiety.

All but the crickets stop and pause when the sound of the door cracking open joins in. It's weird, because I already know he's angry. I already know that he's observed that this is _not_ the car he lent Noodle... But my car. So there's no guessing. There's no confusion, or questioning when he gets in the car. Just a somehow quietly slamming door, a nightshaded man with an aura of anger surrounding him, and a maybe stolen car.

No hello. No _How are you._ Nothing of before. Just driving. Drive away...

It's strange, and weird, and unfamiliar, and I don't like it. Five minutes in, and nothing to show for it. Not so much as a cough, or a scoff, or a grunt. I take a gamble and glance at him. Just once. He's not Murdoc. I mean, he _is,_ but he's not. He's a stranger in a strangers car. How did it get this way? When the hell did we put on strangers clothes and decide to pretend like we don't know eachother? When did he decide not to know me anymore? When?

"You still _know me_, you know." I grumble. But it's loud enough to stand in front of the silence inhabited only by the voice of a speeding car on an empty road, and crickets. Always crickets.

"I suppose Noodle's had a previous engagment." He brings up the subject as to why I'm here, instead of her. Tries to talk casual. I know his game. And he just sounds like a dick, to me.

"_Hi_ would have been nice."

"Yeah, it would have." He spits back with his own personal brand of sass. My eyes roll, and it only powers up my headache.

"You don't got to be rude or nothing. I drove all the way down and out here, and you don't need to go off being a dick."

"2D, be honest with yourself." He sighs his stress into the air, and folds his head neatly into his hands. "When have I ever _not _been a dick? You might as well just sit back, enjoy the ride, and try not to piss me off, okay?"

The search for something to say leads to a dry, dead end. My mouth is left hanging open, so I just close it, and sigh, and shake my tired head. "Wanker."

"That you are, kiddo."

Don't call me that. Don't call me Kiddo. It makes you sound like a pedophile... Oh... Wait. It doesn't anymore. You're just a_ mean _old man... Shake it away. Say something.

"You're really playing that card?" I ask. He looks content with it.

"What card?" He denies his own words.

"The "_I know you are, but what am I" _card."

"If I have to."

"God. Real mature, Murdoc."

I think he's about to say something. That is, I assume so. i can't really hear him when the sound of a tire popping cuts him off. Yeah. You heard right. A TIRE POPPING. We both hear it. Neither of us want to, but clean as a whistle, it bursts into the air like a champagne cork, and so _beautifully_, so absolutely_ perfectly_, we slide off the empty road, and into the roadside that the god damned GPS doesn't even mark.

The moment of realization when the car finally stops rolling, is eerily still. His eyes are bunched shut like his fists. And this really had to happen to us. No. No, no, _no._ You know what? This is so _fucking_ unrealistic. Just because we have problems doesn't mean the gods of disaster or whatever the hell they are, need to put their feet down and pop my tires because it would make things more interesting. And then... it speaks.

The voice that slips from his mouth is quiet. Too quiet. Spookily quiet.

"2D, when's the last time you checked the air pressure in your tires?"

"Uhh..."

"UHH?" I've broken him, and he shatters and snaps all over my face. "What... do you think you mean... by _UHH_?"

His eyes are widened into glass platters, and they break themselves and dig into me for answers with their own shards. All I can mannage yet again, is _"Uhh..."_

"In case you skipped primary school lad, UHH isn't a proper word in the english language, so you're going to need to tell me, did the bloody tires pop, or didn't they!?" He's gone mad. absolutely_ bonkers_.

"Uhh- I mean, well..." For a second here, I forget every word I've ever learned, and all I know is _Uhh, I mean, well, Umm..._ But when he gives off the indication that he's about to start breathing fire, I start talking. "It sounds like- like they did, yeah... We could...check, I guess?"

Welp, a few safe seconds pass, and my head hasn't been eaten off my shoulders, so I guess that suggestion is keen on his part. This is no way means, that he's not still ready to put a railroad spike through my head.

"Yeah." He hisses through clenched teeth. "Yeah, we could fucking check."

In half an instant, he's gone from the car, and the door, he's slammed coldly in my face. And I don't want to, but I reckon I'm supposed to get out and look too, rather than wading in the warm darkness that is this little confined box of a car. And it's when I get out, that I realize how good we had it in the car, because it's cold as balls out here, if balls are ever this cold.

"What does this look like to you?" The silhouette of Murdoc's head pops up from the other side of the car. I don't want to do anything but curl up in the car and lock the door, let alone see what Murdoc's talking about.

"... What is it?" I ask reluctantly.

"Come look at it."

"No, is it like... An arm or something?" I assume the worst, and the worst possible situations throw a party in my head. "Did we hit an arm?"

"No, _you _hit a Stiletto boot." He tosses that thing over the car, and I wouldn't be me if I didn't skitter away and duck from that thing. He appears before the boot a second later, rubbing his forehead and regretting my existence.

"I'm not even going to ask why there would be a severed arm in the middle of the road... Alright, do you have a spare tire?"

He sounds stressed, and angry, and bursting at the seams with an emotion that wants to hit me in the face. That's why I don't really feel like telling him that me and Noodle may have used said tire to build a tire swing last week... So I stuff part of that truth into the back of my head, and water down the rest.

"Erm... No, not exactly."

"Not _exactly_?" He cocks his head and slivers his eyes quite dangerously. "How do you not exactly have a spare tire? Didn't I snag you one like what... in January? And what magic did that disappear by?"

January... I wonder if he remembers what we were in January. And why he even made sure that I had a spare tire back there in the first place. Because maybe he didn't hate me. Because he might have actually cared if I was stuck on the side of the road in need of another tire. So naturally, when he mentions January... I freeze like the January sidewalks.

I think by some stroke of something or another, he catches this, and brushes it away quickly with the shake of his head. "Nevermind that... Alright, my cell is in the glovebox of my own car. Have you got yours?"

I've got my own small miracles, so yes, I do. I'll save you the trouble. He's the slightest bit relieved. Still hates me, I think. But we call Noodle, and she's worried for a moment, but we tell her it's okay... She goes off on how funny it is that she's had to deal with two of these situations in one day. Funny. Yeah. _That's _the word. But it's settled.

And even after it's settled... We don't go back in. Maybe we're waiting for someone to stop and help. Maybe it's the light of the almost stars, up there. Going back in the car just seems like a warm novelty, or a constellation prize, if that makes any sense. It sounds nice. But it's not going to help.

Five minutes slip us by, and we only just stand there, and lean on the back of the car, and try to look cool. Well, he doesn't really have to try. Murdoc might not be on my good list right now, but I can admit that he looks nice, when he's dressed as a shadow, under the dark sky. Hands in his pockets. Mind somewhere else. But when he grunts, and shifts, I know he's going to ruin the moment we're not sharing.

"Out of all of the cement on the bleeding road, you had to run over the part with the _shoe."_

I look away. It's hard to look at something that doesn't want to look at you. "Leave me alone, alright? It hasn't been the best day for me either, and you're the one that wanted to go all the way out to something-grove commons."

"_I _didn't hit the shoe."

I want to make him angry. There's something in my veins, that wants so bad to piss him off. Look at him over there. So smug, and stupid, and smart, and ugly, and beautiful. It's a terrible thing, but I want him to feel as bad as I do.

"Well, you might as well know." I sigh a sight that I'm wishing was cigarette smoke. "We're getting evicted."

I don't exactly know how I expect him to react. I kind of want him to be angry, I guess? When I found out, I was sort of relieved. So why am I shocked when his expression doesn't change? When he sort of looks a little bit relieved too...

"Murdoc?" I quietly ask for him to just react, or something. His shoulders are dropped to their carelessness, and his eyes seem somewhat more relaxed than they were before. And his hands? unclenched. I don't believe it. He's relieved too.

"I'm moving out." He blurts like he's out of breath. I just kind of look at him and wonder if he's heard any of anything I've just said.

"I know." I chuckle at his stupid comment, when nothing is even really funny. "We all are. We're getting evicted, did I not just tell you? Got the letter this morning. It uh... It ain't good, that's for sure, but we'll just have to find somewhere else-"

"I'm not coming with you."

"...What?" My stomach drops. My heart drops. Everything drops. I'm laughing again. But it's nervously this time. "Yeah you are, you can't just stay at wobble street, they're kicking us out-"

"Stuart, do you understand me?"As he turns to me, his voice gets hard, and so does his eyes. "I'm moving out. As in, _away _from the others, _away _from this washed up band, and away from _you._ I'm. Not. Coming. With you._"_

At the end of his breath, I'm left hanging onto it. Like I think if I don't, he'll be gone. And it's true. He's leaving. He's leaving, and all I can do is stare at him with begging eyes, and let my lip quiver at his words.

"No you're not." I mumble through lips that can't even move. "I mean, I mean, yes... Yes, you _are._ You can't just up and go, you- you can't leave us! What about the music? What about, what about... We said we was going to make a new album, yeah? What- What about that?"

I'm only offering excuses I think he might look at. Music. Money. He doesn't even listen to that. "Well, it looks like there ain't going to be a new album."

"Wh- what..." Switching tactics. Too desperate. Must. Try. Everything. " What the fuck are you talking about, Murdoc? We're- We're talking about the music here. The only reason you even stick around in the first place is to make the music, and get the money and the fame, and that's all you ever cared about, isn't it? Where do you think you're even going to_ go_?"

"Can you really not piece this together? Kielsgrove Commons. I know the bloke that owns it. Cut me a good deal on a flat, and I'm staying there until I've got my shit sorted out, and than... I don't know. I wasnt' even going to tell you, 'cause I knew you was going to react this way. You always do."

"Ofcourse I'm going to react this way, Murdoc!" I'm shouting now. Scaring myself. Maybe scaring him too. "You've barely given me three weeks to move past you, and now you throw _this_ on my plate? What, were you just 'gonna leave, and expect me to forget about you?!"

He's got this hand on his head like he's the one who should be upset. It's nearly an insult.

"I'm not doing this anymore." And then like that, his hand is removed, and he's got both of them spread by his head to act as his white flag. "I give up! The band is done. Okay?... And I'm leaving."

"No." I shake my head, and laugh quietly like some kind of mad man. "You're not leaving because the band is washed up..."

He waits for more. And I wait too. I bite my lip, and hold back the urge to strangle him, and to sob hysterically, and to become a headless chicken and run like one too. We wait again. And then, we don't.

"It's me, isn't it? You're leaving because of me?"

And in that dead few seconds where he doesn't answer, I am ready to kill us both. But he does answer. With the slight of his chin gently nodding, he answers. Yes.

"Oh, wow." I laugh. Become the madman again. Because I am mad. I am crazy, insane mad. "You know what, Murdoc? I've said it forty times, but if you need me to say it again, I will. I'm sorry. I'm _sorry _I fucked up so bad. The bird was an accident, and so was Paula. And you know what? I'm _sorry_ you're going to let that fuck everything else up. My apologies, arsehole."

"Fuck you, Stuart!" I've won what I wanted. I wanted him to be angry? Well now, he's angry. Congratulations. "Can you not get it through your thick skull that I don't care about those things anymore? I'm glad _you're_ sorry, because I'm sorry too. I'm sorry you think I broke things off because of The bird and fucking Paula. My apologies too, dickwad."

Hold on. Can I stop things for a moment here? I let some of my anger fade too make room for the possible truth that I'm waiting for. And I cock my head... And I let my eyes unclench...

"If it wasn't Paula and cortez..." I breathe. And it feels like a first. "Than why did you break things off?"

He sighs, and I feel like it might blow me over.

"Because of this." Shakes his head. I shake mine too. But in a different way. "Because of what happens every _damn_ time. Let me paint you a picture, here... We get in a fight. That's alright, a lot of people do that. It's natural. What _isn't _natural, is you walking out of there bleeding and bruised and a scratch away from death. I'ts .Not. Okay."

My eyes are wet. They always do this. I rub it away with my arm, and I sniff, and I try to keep it together. And it's hard. It's really hard.

"I don't mind." I tell him. I don't think he listens. "It's okay, really. I'm used to it, it- it doesn't even hurt that bad... I just..."

"No. It's not okay, fuck!" He viciously shakes his head as I watch him fall into angry pieces again. "And it's not okay that you think that's okay! You're supposed to fight back! You're supposed to stand up for yourself, but you let me nearly kill you every single time! And-"

"I don't care!" I choke quietly. He sees me now. And he watches a tear escape from where I tried to hold it in. I let it roll. There was never any escaping it. I breathe in this earthquake breath. Unpause. Go. "Please. Just... Don't go. I... I can't, I won't be able to... Just, please._ Please don't leave_."

"Don't do this." He says. I can hear the difficulty in his breath. And I savor it. "This is... This is good for you, and it's good for me. Go make something of yourself! Forget me! Get a girl, and settle down. Have kids, get a real job! Have a real, stable relationship! Get the life you know you deserve... Forget me."

"I can't!" I shout in small hopes that if I'm loud, it might break him. And he'll give in. "I don't want to! Why would I want to forget you?"

And you know what? Right at this moment, I smile. I smile for my morning smile poster. And his name is Murdoc Niccals.

"I want to go with you! I want to be with you! I want to- I want to go where you go. Hit me, kick me, drop me in the ocean, I don't care. Take me wherever. We can go wherever. I just want to be there with you, Murdoc."

The only sound stays the crickets. He shuts up. I shut up. And as we shut up, I become a pin cussion full of womanly tears. And one more of Murdoc's little pins, I swear to you, I will explode, and wash this road clean.

"I... I like you." I whisper. And it's small and quiet enough for him to catch, and keep, and lock up forever. I hope he does. "And you know what I mean."

"I like you too, mate." That beautiful half of a smile curls onto his darkened face for a moment, before disappearing somewhere behind the sorry. "That's why I'm doing this."

"No!" I deny it, I deny it. And I deny it again. My foot comes down on the pavment, and I nearly come down everywhere else. "You can't do this, you said you'd be here! You said you'd take care of me! "

With every space he puts between the small bunches of words he utters, I waste a little more over to the crazy side. I grow a little colder, and I miss the man in front of me a little more. He's crazy, he's an idiot, he's fucking insane, he's evil, he's terrible, and I hate him with every emotion capable fiber that holds me up.

But you know what I hate even more? I hate how much I love him. And I hate what he says next.

"I am taking care of you." He murmurs with the same audibility as the passing cars and the jeering crickets. "And this is the right way to do it."

"No, you inconsiderate git!" I cry to the man who always listened, until the day he tuned out. "You're not leaving! You can't do this to us, you can't do this to me! You can't! You can't!"

The strength in my feet has bid the same goodbye as my will to stand up. He's cut my strings, and I sink to the ground like the marionette I always was. My back slides down until it meets the back bumper, and I'm stuck down in my miserable squat.

My breath ran away with the dish and the spoon, and I have absolutely no idea what I might mean by that. But I can't breathe. My heart is trying to book it, to run down the road with the rest of everything else that ran away.

Theres this empty instant that I spend by myself. This moment where it's just me, and the fields, and houses, and hills, and trees, and the laughing stars. And that long road that I'm going to blame forever. Even when I know the fault is on my shoulders. He could write it in blood though, and I promise that I will never understand.

And then I feel him again. I never watched him sink to the ground, but I can feel him there. His head is wishing so loud, I can hear it with mine. Wishing I'd stop. I wish I'd stop too. It's extremley difficult to care this much. Almost deadly.

"Will you be alright..." His quiet demands an answer.

"No."

"I mean, are you going to go off and do something stupid?"

That's not his question. His question is _Are you 'gonna go hang yourself when we're done here?_ In honesty, no. I've made mistakes, and I've learned more from them than I've learned in every useless semester of school. Life sucks. It will never stray more than three feet away from the suck of all suckishes. But if he used to like my life, than I'll learn to like it too.

"Like you'd care if I did." I quietly snarl a sentence that is already a mistake, and a lie. And he shows me why.

"I'd care more than you think." He donates one of his famous sighs to the air, and I try and watch it go. Sighs are invisible, none the less. "The way I see it, you can catch a bug, and you can look at it and pet it a bunch, but you're going to hurt it, right?"

"Oh god, your analogies."

"Shut up." He snaps, before remembering that he's supposed to be calming me down. "So you let that bug go. For it's own good, of course. No one never said you couldn't still like it, and wonder how it's doing, and watch it fly away. And no one said you wouldn't be pissed if someone hit your bug with a car, or if that bug went about and shot itself."

I'm a break up away from laughing at that. But I'm still a break up away. So I don't laugh. I play back what he's just said, and think about how incredibly beautiful things can come from the hardest stone.

"That was pretty sounding." I sniff back old tears. "Why did you just say something pretty sounding?"

"Because you might have cried if I didn't,"

"Shut up."

And than I hear something. I hear the rest of the world. Chirping crickets, wind in the grass, people walking, people talking, animals, cars, bottles popping, music, and life, life, life. Okay, maybe I didn't hear much. But I heard my world going on even after a lot of it ended.

So that picks me up a little bit. But I'm still below sea level.

"What if that bug doesn't really 'wanna fly away?" I ask, and for a moment, it seems to stump him. But that doesn't mean he'll take me back. It just means that crazy brain is thinking.

"Than he puts his memories for sale, and moves on." Murdoc says. "And that's all there is to it.

So, yeah. Right here on Kielsgrove road, I set up an imaginary stand, with imaginary signs, and imaginary everything else.

And I put my memories for sale.

Two for one. Get 'em while they're aging.

And I look over at Murdoc, and I wonder if he's doing the same. I wonder how business is going. How many memories he's let go today. If they're all gone. Who took them home.

I'll still have the memories of these memories, though. And I'll never stop missing them. And I'll never stop missing the thing that tought me how to hate, and love, and spit across a freeway. I look back at every loved memory from the past thirteen years.

In every one, he's there. So I sell those ones for cheaper.

**AN: Still, not over. Haha. But yeah, things will get happier. Think I'l leave you like this? Aw, hell no :D **

**Well, thanks so much for reading, and do tell me what you think!**

**Thanks!**


	63. 63: Bye Bye, Butterfly

**Chapter 63: Bye Bye, Butterfly**

***REVIEWER VOTE AT THE END!***

**AN: I'm a lame person. Updating so late, and all. Sorry! School sucks, so its hard to get things done, you know? Anyway, thanks for being patient! Love you guys!**

The memories never sold.

The sale becomes a lost cause that never really even had a chance of being a _found _cause in the first place. And so, the time before the eviction date has slipped through our fingers with the indecisive melting snow that has at last, gone to sleep with february.

A lot of other things slipped through my fingers too.

Like my will to get up in the morning. And my own family. And my own friends. Christ, they're my own damn _friends_, and half of the time, they don't even exist to me. It's not like I don't want them to. They just don't anymore. It's a choice that chose me. And there was never any _uncheck option _box.

And the only thing in fact, that hasn't slipped through me, is the past. Believe me, I've tried to shake it.

But memories are fireproof. Fireproof doesn't burn.

"That's the last of it. All done." Noodle declares with a hearty sigh, and begins to dust her hands, which don't seem to be at all dirty. _That's the last of it._ How true that statement is, Noodle. If you only knew. If you only knew how done things really are.

But somehow, I know that's a lie when I look into her face. All day. All week. Ever since we've gotten the eviction notice, and ever since the world fell on our heads and left us all in a grey daze... Her face is different. Her eyes are glassy and bagged. Her mouth is wilting more with every sinking day on our distorted earth. Her face only knows how to look like you're about to cry, and _happy _got lost in the wreckage.

She knows how done things are. Maybe not with me and Murdoc. Maybe not about our little situation, though I doubt she's oblivious... But she knows how dead this family is. And it's doing a good job of breaking her heart.

Back in the real world, what she was actually saying was the last of, and done, is her own moving. Like, packing her boxes into this taxi, and all. Still, it's no less of an ending.

"2D, are you alright?"

But I'm frozen, with every possibility and option of unfreezing. I'd hate to worry her, by not replying, and just staying a hunk of sun dried clay. Aging. Cracking. So it's odd when I do exactly that. Just stare. Just look for the last time at this particular section of vacant sky, decorated with rooftops, and hopes, and pidgeons, and dreams. I wonder what I'd thought of this view two months ago.

Maybe I liked it. Maybe it was pretty

. Maybe it was pretty because _we _were pretty. Me and Murdoc, I mean. No. We weren't really. On the outside, we were ugly together. On the inside, we were as pretty as we felt we needed to be.

So it seemed that we were beautiful. As of now... The pretty has retired.

The warm hand of a warm friend finds its way to my shoulder, and clamps down like the teeth of a harmless animal. Her nails, uncut and unpolished. Because she doesn't care. We don't care. Caring is just as dead as chivalry.

"Hey now..." As if by some grace she knows exactly what words are in my head, she puts on this phony warm tone and snakes her hand around my back. "It's really going to be okay... I mean, nothing is ever the end of anything. When none of us are working... we can...Well, we could..."

She trails off in the quiet search of a missing answer. I don't think the answer is alive anymore. And thinking about that just hurts my chest, and aches my brain.

I don't tell her how long ago the story ended.

I don't tell her how long we've so desperately trying to re-live it.

And I don't tell her how we've died with it. What's the use in telling her what she already knows?

"...Yeah, it'll be fine." I lie through my _fucking teeth._ "It'll all be good. You'll go off to that valley you's been talking of. Russ'll go back home when he's small enough... And I'll be good."

Good is such a false word. Ever heard anyone tell you something was _good_? Ever heard someone tell you they were _good?_ Well stop listening to it if you have been, because newsflash: The word _good_ is as big of a liar as the person who uses it.

But hey. She believes it. The girl just nods. And there's an awfully big chance that the deadflower girl who nods beneath black chops of hair, is lying about her acceptance. She doesn't believe a single word that leaves either of our mouths. Neither do I.

"Yeah." She mouths, her chin dipped dreamily to the sky. "I know."

That taxi honks just like the taxi of seven years ago.. It's nearly the same goosethroat squeak as the one that took her away the first time so long ago. We stood the same way. She was so much shorter. Maybe I was to. But I wasn't ready to cry back then. Young, and foolish, and unaware.

That was me. I remember.

That day. And she'd said... She told me...

_"You can't force musical inspiration, you know"_

That's what she'd said. Oh _god, _that's what she'd said! How the hell do I remember that? So many years later, here we are. Nearly in the same way. Waiting for her to leave. Yellow taxi. Small brain. Clean mind. Clean Stuart. Murdoc. That first night we spent exploring eachother. Oh god, I remember. And sweet jesus, would be bring hell.

And as hellish as every year since that night has been, and as terrible as they've turned out and left us, the corner of my mouth pricks up and cracks a dent in my emotionless face. A smile as fake, and old as say... An island constructed entirely out of rotting plastic.

"Hey." She grabs my hand all of the sudden, and squeezes it real tight. She gulps, and I hear the tightness in her chest that could be crying if she wasn't this strong. I don't know who raised her to be so strong. Because it damn well wasn't me.

"... I really should go. I uh... Can't leave the taxi waiting, you know? Or Russ... He's waiting for me down by the pond, I think."

And she looks at me. And I promise you, I can feel this hurting her. And I'm just barely able to look back. Stop for a moment... Stop this... I feel I should say something.

Letting her walk away is the second most terrible pain I will feel today... But you want to know what the best one is? The same thing. Letting her walk away. Because the moment she enters that cab and sails away from this mud she's been stuck in, she'll be free. I mean, she's got _destined for greatness_ written all over her, but maybe we made that hard to see.

So as I hug her, and shut my eyes tight while I swear she becomes eight years old again...I realize this isn't really a hug goodbye, though. It's a release. Letting go. And we're not holding her back anymore. She's free, into a world that will make something wonderful out of her.

"Are you sure you won't come with us?" She asks with this desperation in her voice that she doesn't really need. "If you're looking for a place, there's always one with me. Russel too."

It'd be just lovely to say yes, now wouldn't it? Quite easy, too. But easy might hold them down. I can't do that. I've got to let go.

"Naw." I shake my head. My stomach twists at the disappointment that melts into her face. "I think I've got other worlds to burn, eh? Thanks for caring, though."

"Always."

"Is this a goodbye, or?"

"I don't believe in goodbyes." She says. "I believe in last hellos."

"Oh..." I think. And I think again. "Than uh... Hello?"

"Hello." She nods. And it's so hard to feel her slipping away. To hear her sniffing back her sorrows, and sucking it up exactly how I can't. I become cold as her arms leave me. It stays even colder as she slips away into that taxi. And when the engine starts, I'm already frozen...

But there's something like warmth, in her green fielded eyes. She looks back. I look back too. And she cries, but it's not even something you can hear. Just quiet tears from quiet green pools. But the smile she gives me holds the power of the strongest pep talk I will ever hear.

"You..." She just barely opens her mouth to call out to me... "You be happy, okay?"

"Okay." And lying is as easy as that. I say it just to get her to smile again, you know. And she does it, and it makes me smile, and a moment of warmth is just that easy. Even when that smiling face is pulling away with every year trailing behind her. Dropping words and thoughts and faces and days along the way. They're hard to pick up.

So the moment she breaks away from the shadows and the sun touches her face to free her, I leave.

I'm good at that. I have to be.

Two hours pass, and I'm just laying there. Not on that little piece of street where Noodle bid her last hello. I lay on the floor in my kingdom of moving boxes that was at one time, a bedroom. Just me. Just the boxes. My last friends.

I can't tell you how painful the films are. The ones that play behind my eyelids, because I swear to you that's what they are, these memories that wouldn't sell or burn.

Sort of... Like...

Do you ever just lie there? Nothing much more than that. Just spread into a lazy star, in the middle of the floor? I don't know what it is. Maybe my imagination, my memories are soaked up into the carpet below my head. Because just one after another. Swallow by painful swallow, I start to remember things.

I'll cringe at some of them.

At others I'll smile like the idiot I am. I must look mad, here. Smiling and laughing and cringing in the middle of the floor. It doesn't matter. It's over. The last words have rolled off the screen. I'm just the man who stayed behind the projection screen. The guy who stayed behind. Just remembering. Twiddling his stubby thumbs and swimming over his own memories.

_Do you remember the dream?_ I ask myself._ Around the time you first met him. That little game show sex dream. You were so disgusted. What would you think now? Would you kill for that dream?_

Maybe I would.

_He threw a brick through your parents window, Stuart._ My head says. Laughing at me. _Took you on some sort of wild drug deal, huh? Remember? How he stole Paula? And she left in that phsyco fluster when you told her to leave? what did he say to you? Remember._

She really was rechid looking. Of course I remember.

_You remember everything else? His stealing your films? How about that first shag, huh? Yowch. That one had to hurt. Your little pill-crazy head couldn't really take it the next morning, huh? Crashing the car? Taking that bus?_

Yeah. I remember.

_Your mum, and the pills? That whole situation? You took him to your damn parents house, Stuart._

An odd move on my part. But I remember.

_You overdosed. That stupid rehab center. He broke in for you, yeah? That's sweet. Sweet guy. Sometimes. And the demon detour? Getting together, only to snap back apart in a short time, huh?_

I don't think I want to remember anymore.

_But there was-_

Nope.

_How about-_

Stop. And that's how memories work, dear children. They tap on your shoulders, and gnaw at your feet until you're forced to ponder back to them and cry, or laugh, or do both. So as it is, I'm stuck in a mental review of this whole big fat part of my life... Let's call it section M.

And all I can do is smile and say- "You really fucked up a good thing, didn't you?"

See, that was meant for myself, and only myself. But it becomes quite clear when some movement shifts in the open door behind me.

"Uhmm..." Please be the voice in my head. God, let me be crazy for five minutes. Don't let this actually be him.

It appears when he said he was leaving before anyone awoke, he was tounging a lie. Quite obviously he's still here, unless he's hired another hologram to stand gawkily in my I'm still on the floor, so he's upside down. I don't think I've ever really been the religous type. Haven't prayed since Noodle's supposed death. Not that type of guy.

So if I could explain to you why I'm ready to pray for this man to be only a trick in my head.

And I can't explain to you either, just exactly why I know he's real.

No. Wait. I can. It's the smell of that pungent alcohol soaked sweat on his skin. And the scent of cigarettes on his closed lips. And the cheap hair grease that masks it all, wraps it up, and labels it _Murdoc. _I'd like to call it _scent of defeat. _I'd also like to run away from it before it cages me yet again.

Except I don't, because it's not that easy. I just roll back over to my stomach, and get on my arse in a leg folded sit. Towering so far below him. I always was the lesser skyscraper.

"I uh..." I stumble over the simplest words. "I wasn't talking about you, with the fucking things up thing... I actually didn't even know you was there."

He blinks, and that's how I know he's alive. Otherwise, he's been still and quiet enough to become just another box in this room.

I wonder how it's possible to feel so uncomfortable with someone you've been a part of for so long. And it's funny how when fifteen good years stand up against one little bitter month, they fall away completely.

All of that work. All of our blood and sweat and bruises and tears and work were reduced by a bad month, to this. Sitting here. Watching us become complete strangers in the blink of an eye.

"Yeah. Hi." His lips move. That doesn't mean he's even really speaking. "So uh... You've found somewhere to go?"

"Yeah." Lie.

Not telling mum or dad. Can't stay with them. Mum likes to ask questions, and I don't like to answer them. Motels are fine. Motels don't ask questions. Motels don't smell like home. And I don't think I can take home.

"Good." He coughs, and I stand up to meet his eyes. Drums his fingers. I'll miss that. His awkward hand motions. The way he avoids my eyes when he know I'm looking at him. "You say goodbye to Noodle?"

"Yeah..." And all I see in that second is her face under the sun. Driving on away. "It was hard, but... She'll be great out there."

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

It seems like that. Our world will end with two _yeahs._ Two little yeahs, from two men who are really just children with their hands in their pockets. It's now when I notice how grey he's become. I don't just mean how he acts... But everything about him.

I remember, those eyes... They used to be this cosmic red, and I could see right into them and make out a world of pain and misadventure and snarky comments. And than somewhere along the way, the fire went out. Faded to grey.

His feet shift with his nerves. His slow breathing stops for a moment, and he rubs away the headache from his forehead. Funny. I've always thought I was the only one who got them.

"I came to say goodbye, I guess." I let that sink in. No. I don't. It sits on the surface of wherever it's supposed to sink into. Time can try to heal whatever it wants to. This isn't sinking in.

"Oh."

"Yep. Right-o. Can't let the moving van check off without me, eh? It's been good. See you on the other side."

_See you on the other side_

I could throw up. I could cry. I could tear my eyes out, because you know why? You really fucking want to know why? He thinks this is okay. He thinks its okay when he says not another damn word and tries to spider out of this room like I'm just an illusion.

News flash. I am an illusion. And I'm not supposed to be. The ignoring is done.

If I've onlt got three minutes left with you Murdoc, I am going to make you remember that I am a person. That YOU are a person. We were people. What are we now, Murdoc? What the hell do you think we are now?"

"Walk away from me." My hiss stumbles. "You just fucking try to walk away from me."

And oh, look. My hook caught the fish. That face turns around with angry eyes that seem more hungry than pissed. I could have fed them.

"Pardon you?" This bastard. Knows _perfectly well ._What I've said. And what else? My brilliant little brain can't think of a thing to say back. My outburst was a distraction, and there is no plan B.

So I just look because I can. Because he's still there. Because I've got a good three minutes to last me the rest of my days.

"Well, if it's so important you might as well spit it. What do you want, huh? What else could you _possibly _want?"

What do I want?

What do I want?

You should have asked me this so many years ago, Murdoc. Better yet... You should have asked me when I actually knew.

"I... I don't know." I laugh. You know what? I laugh for every emotion but happiness, and he stares at me with the eyes of a guy whos seen an idiot, or a crazy man. I am of course, both. "I don't know... But it worked. You're still here, huh? I think... I think that's what I meant for."

Wow. Would you look at this? It's quiet. Dead quiet. But I can hear him wanting to punch me in the face. But you know what else? I can see him listening.

"And I know... I know that you don't 'wanna make this work, or nothing. And either way... I know you're walking out of here. But you don't have to do it so fast..."

"Fast is easy." His shoulders tilt quietly in an unsure shrug. "And you know what? I like easy. "

"And I like you."

"Yeah,I know you do." The door shuts behind him, and that alone makes me so much more comfortable.

"You used to like me too, remember?" I ask, only to revert to my cowardice self when he slowly hunches over, that same steamed look dripping off his face.

"You're a little twat, you know that?" He snarls. And I'm in for it. So why do I keep going? I'm stupid, that's why.

"I know you are, but what am I?"

"Fuck you, 2D." That's it. I'm from half alive, to the deadest dead in four seconds flat. His anger flies into me. His rage, his pissiness. That one emotion that wants to make me bleed. His arms fly into me, and my funeral begins.

...And then... I'm not so sure. Pain isn't warm like this, and blood doesn't smell like scotch and sweat. Fighting isn't my arms around his back. This is strange, I have to say. It's warm. And I've got beating chest against mine to prove it.

He came to be angry... And I think I gave him a hug. Weird.

But you know what's weirder? No rejection. I'm literally just here. With tears in my tightly shut eyes, and arms even tighter around him. And I'm not dead. I'm warm. And I feel something wonderful. And the weirdest thing yet...

He hugs back. Those arms wrap their frail selves around me. But not at once. So slowly. They just quietly slide up my spine until I can call them here.

So we're zipped. And it doesn't stop. For another minute, I feel the way we talked like rain and slept like the ocean. Again, I feel him in me. And I feel the bruises, and the cuts. And I love them again.

"_I swear, we'll be okay_." I whisper to an ear which doesn't catch it. "Please. _Please. _Stay."

"Shut up." He snaps quietly as we rock in this still room. "Don't ruin it."

I swear on the feet that hold me, I just heard him sniffle. I don't say anything.

I keep it like this. And it might be lasting for four minutes or an hour. I don't know. I coud fall asleep here. I could live here too, if his arms were a world.

"Be okay, alright?" He says. "Damn it, be okay. I swear if I find out you've almost died, or taken up the pills again..."

"I'll be fine." I pull up and try to look at that face. "If you stay. I'll be perfectly okay. With you. Just please-"

"Stuart, listen to me." My face is quickly in his hands. We stop. Yeah. I think everything stops. "And I'm not going to say this again. Do you like butterflies?"

"Wh- What?"

"Stuart, do you like butterflies?" He asks so hostile like. But I love how somehow, that sentence fits him in every way.

"Uh... Yeah, I Guess so."

"Would you want to keep one?"

I almost think he's offering me a butterfly. Then I remember the bug analogy.

"I... Sure."

"But you can't!" His whisper is an angry storm. "You know why? It'll die! You'll keep it locked away, and eventually the things gonna die! Why in the hell would you want to kill it? The butterfly didn't kill anyone! If you loved it so much, why would you kill it? Why would you do that?"

"Murdoc."

"What?"

"You're hurting my face." He realizes then, how far his rage in butterflies and analogies has gone, and frees my face from his grip. The truth? I didn't mind at all.

"Right." He coughs. I cough. It's a fucking flu virus cocktail party in here, with all this coughing. That is, if it wasn't out of just nervous habit. "Sorry."

I bathe in this silence. I feel like it washes me, too. And even with that wash, I feel dirty and tired and upset in every way.

"I should go." He ends. Goes for that door. Thinking in his head, that this goodbye was enough. It wasn't. No goodbye is ever enough.

"Wait!"

And he's halfway out the door when last words are prepared. And he's halfway out of my life when the first words are remembered.

_Hey kid. Watch out._

It's my last stand. And I'll welcome anything that wants to help. So I try.

"Hey kid." I mumble. "Watch out. Do you... remember? Tell me you remember."

Perhaps... Maybe... He understands, that head in the door. I think he does. And I think he doesn't. And I think his next words might prove that. Or maybe they wont.

"Bye bye..." He grumbles. "Butterfly."

The door closes. The world doesn't end. But maybe the sanity does. Over the next few minutes, I'm a dumbfounded face in the window. Watching. Being a fucking butterfly. My eyelashes are wings. I hope wings are good at preventing tears.

The last image is of him walking out into the street.

Getting into that van.

And looking up from one window to another. There goes the murderer. There goes everything, in the snap of my fingers. The man who threw it all away.

My own good. Huh.

I wave my hand so gently. And I know he sees it. I know he does.

And I know he's thinking it. I am too. T

_Bye Bye... Butterfly._

_/

**A week or so later:**

The butterfly flew again, you'll be happy to know.

But you'll be quite disturbed to know it flew right through the devils gates. By that I mean Paula and her grandparents front door.

Don't think like that. Stop mind shaming me. There was no where else to go, and he doesn't want me, and I can't take my parents judgement, let alone ruin Noodle or Russ's new lives with my needs and such.

Paula is a cold hearted bitch. That much is true. But even a cold heart can care sometimes, even if it doesn't want to show it. She opened her door without asking much, and I entered without saying much either.

The house is warm. What can I say?

_Paula_ is warm What can I do?

That's why there are nights like tonight. Nights when her grandparents are off playing poker or other such activities. Nights where it isn't so lame that Paula sleeps in the bed in her grandparents basement.

And tonight is warm.

But it's not real. It's not what I want to feel... But I don't feel. So I have to try to. And I want to feel anything. Is that understandable? Besides, what else is real?

So here's where we are. Her lips are still only peaches and cigarettes. Nothing else. Her body is warm, and the lace on her underwear tickles against my hips when they rub. That should feel wonderful. The mystery to why it doesn't, isn't much of a mystery at all.

I know. I know. How does it skip to that so fast, Stuart? Well you want the truth? The terrible god damned truth? Life skips that fast, and you have to sit down and deal with it. One minute you're holding your life in your hands. The next, you drop it.

So if you want to feel things, you have to get out there, and you have to try to feel them. Even if it doesn't really work.

Her fingers grazing my neck. That should feel good. It doesn't.

One hand trailing down past my stomach and into my knickers. That should feel great. But those aren't supposed to be her hands.

This all should be an erotic dream to come true.

It. _Isn't._ Because she's not supposed to be the one in that dream.

But I deal. I kiss and I grope, and i let her touch me for one reason, and one reason only: I need to feel.

I need to do this. I need to-

_I scratch my foot and sit patiently on the floor, though my lower half feels ready to burst. Murdoc quickly emerges from the stairway, with a little greasy tube. He hurries over and sits down to the floor where I am._

_"So... How do we...err start this?" I ask, still unsure if I want to be doing this or not. Do I want to? Should I-_

_Murdoc pushes his tongue through my closed mouth, forcing it through, and pushing me down to my back. Yeah, I think I wanna do this._

_"Okay." He says, pulling back. "Are we ready?"_

_I exhale and nod, due to the fact that I'm about to paint the living room white_

No. Just stop it. Leave me alone, memories. You were supposed to burn!

_"You always say that." I grumble, as a some what of a plan erupts in my head. "But... sex is sex, right?"_

_He looks up as if to think, and than back to me. "My car is around the corner. I'm sure Mr. Manson might not mind if I..." His tone drops, and gets deeper and sexier. "Drove off for a bit..."_

Keep kissing, Stuart. Don't let it get to you. This is just sex, is all. You can do this. You've done this hundreds of times, and you can do it again. Easy... Take her shirt off...

_"You'll be alright. As long as it's the two of us. What can go wrong?"_

_What can go wrong?_

Everything.

Every. Single. Last. Thing. Can go wrong. Just like this. Just like what you've made me do, Murdoc.

I sit up and rocket away from her dirty mouth. Dirty, dirty mouth. She of course, pulls herself up in disbelief before wiping her mouth and giggling this giggle that I never want to hear again. Those wisps of dark in her hair. That mole. Those lips.

She's beautiful. Not the kind of beautiful I want.

"What's gotten into you?" She gets serious all of the sudden. Like she has the right.

It must be the look on my face that does that to her. I can only imagine how I look. I'm gripping my aching skull. Panting with memory induced guilt. And in the flash of that all, I'm pulling my pants back on.

"Listen... I'm sorry." I lie. I'm not sorry. I'll never be sorry. "But I can't do this, okay? I really, I just-"

"Hold on." She stops me, and I turn my back from her to see what exactly she needs. "2D... Does that... Does your back say Murdoc?"

Stop. Freeze. Her eyes. She knows. I can see it. The suspicion. The amusement. She knows. And she's enjoying every second of my struggle.

I should have seen this car sailing into my face. Mum found out. Noodle pretty much found out. Women close to me have a way of determining the hints of my altered sexuality.

"Does it?" She asks from her rustled sheets.

This is the moment where lying can kick in again, and it'll be okay. Maybe. There's always maybe.

If I could talk. If I could even move. She waits for an answer. So do I.

And it's funny to think how much of this could have been avoided if he'd just kept the butterfly.

**AN: REVIEWER VOTE!  
Okay, so I've got something good planned out for both of these, and neither of them are BAD, but it's up to you guys to see which thing happens!**

**Should 2D:**

**A: Try and Lie.**

**B: Get the hell out of there.**

**And again, no pressure, but voting would be nice, so I can get all of these tallied up and start writing again. Sorry for the quickness guys, but school is a butt, huh? Thanks so much for reading. And what did you think? Go ahead and tell me!  
**

**Thanks :)**


	64. 64: A Choir of Lies

**Chapter 64: A Choir of Lies**

**AN: REVIEWER VOTE AT THE END! And thanks for waiting! Have fun.**

Do you want to know something sad?

Like, sadder than the contaminated punch bowl that is my _ex-alright_ life?Well, nobody wants to know. I don't even want to hear it from myself. I mean, I don't really have the complete and utter right to be explaining things right now. I _am _the shaking spine in his underpants, and only his underpants, afterall. But I feel like I have the right to admit this. Underpants and all.

I've been in and out, and over and under, and here and there with Paula enough times to be able to read her face like a children's book. You know. The kinds with the ridiculously obvious print.

So right here, right now, in this basement underworld of dirty laundry and rock band posters and echoing bottles of Zoloft, I read Paula. And you know what her print says?

_You've got a secret_

Yes. I've got a secret. In fact, you know what? I've got a whole whopping storage facility of secrets, that Paula doesn't have the key to. You know what else? My storage facility of secrets _has_ a storage facility of secrets.

You know what else secret keepers are good at? Running away on our little lie scarred feet. Sometimes that running hurts. Not today.

"Wait, wha- Where's you going?" She calls from her messy sheets and quilts. That only proves how fast I've gotten at getting dressed, and getting the hell out. A valuable life lesson, taught by none other than Murdoc. Fact here, my shirt's nearly on not a second later?

And then I leave with the smelly grace of a liar, and a coward, and an introvert, and everything everything there ever will be in between.

"Got to go, uh , my house is on fire." The powers of lying quickly blend with my rushing out the empty hall.

"You ain't got a house, numskull. You been evicted, remember?" She actually now proves herself, a worthy match. A pair of these tattered _I almost got laid _sweats sagging at her waist, that Im positive were in the laundry hamper a second before. Shirt on? I can't even tell.

Why? Because aren't I just the smartest bloke you ever did meet? You see, it's a bit humorous, I guess. Because I can't see a _fucking thing_ with this shirt half over my head. I really should invest looking before putting clothes on. Is this... Is this inside out? And where's the damn neckhole? Aren't neckholes sposed' to be right here? Wait, here it is... A bit smaller than I remember, though.

Crash. Ba-boom. There goes my shoulder again, bruised and bullied by what I think is a side table that I've crashed into? Either way, my face is on the ground. And also, update: That neckhole wasn't really exactly a neckhole. Rather a sleeve.

This shrill, duck-squeak laugh sounds, that I can just so faintly remember from year nineteen ninety seven. Ninety seven, it was laughing its way into my heart. Now it's laughing its way down whatever organ or nerve that makes anger.

" There's a chair there, _Mr. agility two thousand twelve._.. Naw, really though." Her squeaking dies out after this bath of pain and embarrassment has lasted a good minute."You okay? C'mon, get up, you lazy clod."

She's been good to me. There's no denying that. I needed a place to stay? She held out a figurative hand, and fell into it. All the same, when she holds out an actual hand to pull me up by my arm, I don't want it. I don't want her hand. I want the hand that wants to touch cigarettes, and lady nipples, and money. So why's it touched me before?

Why do we touch what we apparently don't want? Doesn't that mean we do want it? So then, why do we abandon it and flee to crappy apartment bulidings? Tell me, what the hell is the use in throwing away what you obviously want?

The ground beneath meets my feet as she pulls me up, and my mind meets my heart. Tells my heart to shut the fuck up, because what are hearts good for, anyways? _Why, _god damn it, _why _should the things that make us happiest, jump up and bite us in our arses? And is it too much to ask to be averagely average?

I look at Paula, over here. The first thing that gets to my mind when she crosses her arms, is how good she smells. It's always peaches and smoke. Like fruit on fire. Does that make sense? No? And look. Boobs! No way! Guys like boobs, right? Yeah, they do. And she has them. Nice ones, too... Follow her traintracks, and there are curves. Smooth, admirably plump curves in every place they need to be. Paula Cracker is an attitude short from being the perfect girlfriend.

I don't want the perfect girlfriend. Something's snapped, I guess. I want the worst boyfriend.

"I really should go, uh- I think _Love Actually_ is on at twelve." Plenty of time until twelve. At least half an hour. That's what the clock says. Well you know what, clock? You ain't helping, not in the least.

"Yeah, and where's you going to watch it, at?" She teases with her raised eyebrow. "You're streeted, remember? You okay? And you never answered me, you know-"

That topic I thought, was lost in a flurry of tripping and excuses and flat out embarrassment. Apparently not, since she won't shut her yap about it. And the eyes want to know. They really want to know. Well, what do you want to know, Paula?

You want me to admit it? You want me to crack my mouth right open and spill all of my emotional problems into the empty cracks in your soul? Well no. I'm done spilling. And I've got to go.

"I've got to go." I retrace those thoughts and throw them blankly at her before giving up on the shirt and just tossing it aside to wherever. She can keep it. A souvenier of my defeat.

A souvenier of me. She'll need one. Because I haven't any idea in the world where I'll be tommorow. Or the next day. Or in a week. Or even in the upcoming five minutes. The truth unspoken here, is that I'm lost. I'm lost, so I run.

But it's not even running. My bones are jelly, and so are my emotions, so my self proclaimed _running _just ends up to be this frantic, quakey fast walk. Somethings funny. Somethings really funny. And that's this... For every bit of accountable running I can recall, I'm running for something. I'm running for food. Running for work. Running for love. Running for apology. Running for forgiveness.

Then the hour glass flips one day, and I'm running away. And I can't. The first time in a while that I've actually needed to run from something, and my limbs are jello. I am jello. Jello run-walking in the tired, wet dawn of march in wobble street.

The only sound to be made besides the frantic and slurred footsteps of a shirtless moron, are the single cars that push by. They're laughing. Car's can't laugh. But the cars are laughing. Then, there are other footsteps.

If I didn't recognize the pattern of them, I'd be a corset wearing hillbilly under water. I'm not a corset wearing hillbilly under water. I know these footsteps. They're dainty, yet rushed. With just a grain of spark in them as they come down that says, _I don't care. _So again, it's funny. Funny when I turn around and her eyes are clenched just as tight as her arms. Sure looks like she cares.

"Did I morph into a sea monster, or something?" She says. But that's not what her eyes say. Her eyes say _Are you okay?_ And it's a strange thing to read from the eyes of Paula Cracker. "What's wrong with you?"

Everything. EVERYTHING. You want to know what's wrong with me? I could write you a book in me own blood, and halfway through I'd die of blood loss. And one of those everything's that's wrong with me is this: I'm a liar.

"Nothing." But even as I speak, my half naked, translucent skinned profile is speaking for me. _Scared and confused._ _Save this man, if you can. _"I'm fine. Just need to go."

"No, you don't need to go." The concern peeks in her voice, as it does in her face. "Listen mate, I don't know what your deal is right now, but you're freaking me out, and I think you'd better just come inside, alright?"

"I can't. I really have to go, you don't understand."

"No." She breathes with the laughing cars. I count the seconds in her nervous pause. _One, two, three..._

"But I'm going to." The thin nerve in her voice snaps out with her pointed finger, which jerks out to point behind her. "Because you're going to get in that damn house, and sit down before you do something stupid."

I get angry. I get a little upset. And I get a little scared. And those three speak. "Paula, I don't want to fuck right now, alright?"

"I'm not asking you too." She scoffs in mild disgust. "I'm _telling _you to get back in the house. This is _not_ up for negotiation, buddy."

"I say it is. And I'm not going." I cross my arms with the blinding independence of a four year old. She doesn't like it. Not in the least.

"Fine." Her mouths move with the words. She's speaking them, alright. But I don't believe them for one second... "I'll call your mother."

If there were ever really any stakes here, besides me having to go back with Paula, this one beats them all. And apparently I look pretty shocked. Because my expression bounces off hers and gives her an utterly pleased smile.

"You wouldn't even dare."

"Wouldn't I?"

"You don't even have me mums number!" I laugh like I'm actually proving something.

"Well, no..." And when this illuminating blue glow emerges from her pocket to her hands, I know we're playing hard ball. This blue glow isn't anything magical, or special, or fanciful. But it's got something: My mums number.

"But you seem to have left your phone on my bed..."

That sentence, as it happens, could turn out to mean one of two things. Either she's offering me my phone, in the trade for one of my (And technically Murdoc's) Kidneys, or she wants me to jaunt back into her house and sing her the song of my woes. As it turns out, I could spare a kidney... And I'd rather do that than sink back into Paula's spider web of dirty laundry and cheap perfume.

Problem here though: That mask of concern painted over thinly by pride in her bribery, is shining like the back of a dirty penny. The look of a woman who knows she was just dealt a good hand.

"Are you..." Shock takes effect. Than wares off pretty quickly when I remember this is _Paula, _here. "Are you trying to blackmail me?"

"Blackmail is a harsh term." She shrugs away the guilt that I wish she had. "I prefer re-enforcment."

In whatever dictionary Paula lives by, blackmail is an apparent form of re-enforcement. I just call it being a bitch.

"Right, you know what?" I break out that take over tone in my voice that i admittedly stole from her. "Fine. Threaten to tell my mummy? You've gotten what you've ."

The grin she gives is evil and beautiful and dusty with memories of the days I used to watch it and smile. It's odd how that happens. How one year someone can be the light in your attic, and another some of years later, it dies. They burn out.

"Right." She breathes out my defeat and rubs it right in my face. "But you know what? The house is cold, and my grandparents will be home soon, or whatever. We're going for a little drive.

A little drive can be a big problem, with Paula. Especially considering the fact that she's worse at driving than me, and she's got the beater car to prove it. And so still regretting ever even taking Paula's helping hand in the first place, I find myself meandering her aimlessly back through every rabbit hole and trail. Or actually, just back to the parking lot. But I sort of mean that.

The smell of a cold, trash garnished parking lot is stolen away and made even worse by the smell of Paula's old Yugo. And the odd bit here, is the smell in her car is only cheap perfume. But it smells like her. And it smells like nineteen ninety seven. As if I need any more regret than I already have.

"Buckle up, or crash through yet another windscreen." She cracks a cold joke as we pull away into a night of something and whatever and mystery. I tell you, I can smell trouble in the air here. And that smell is her being quiet.

Let me tell you one thing about Paula: Quiet is not her middle name.

And that silence lives on for about five or six minutes. In that time, every worse possible situation in my head is shining and gleaming to be noticed, and damn right I notice them. So I sweat buckets. And I shiver in the worst way. And even when she taps the silence open, I still vibrate with nerve.

"I hope this isn't weird."

"You hope wrong."

"Come on, Stu." She groans without the right. "Get the stick out of your arse and be okay."

"I'm perfectly fucking fine, thank you."

"Nobody puts _fucking _in a sentence that way if they're fine."

"Well I would be fine." I sigh. "But you know. You had to kind of go and blackmail me into going for a drive with you. Hence, I'm not okay right now."

"You don't even know what hence means. "

"I want to go home."

"_Well you know what_?" She looks over. I can see the grief in her own eyes, reflected from mine. And she breathes. And she says something. Something to think about.

"You don't have a home. And You know what 2D, I'm sorry you hate me, okay?"

Sorry is the worst excuse to ever be born on the surface of this sick earth. But she breathes, and it sounds so painful in my ears, that it rings in my heart and kicks me because this is what I do. I upset everyone. I am the human equivalent of bothersome.

"That whole kiss thing, what? Do you want me to be sorry you were wasted, because I _know _you still blame me for that. You hate me. I know you do, because I hurt you _really _bad, Stu. I really did. But do you know how long ago that was? Do you know how many years I've been seeing shrinks for this kind of thing?"

_Not enough_.

No stop. 2D. Be nice for a minute. Okay, you don't like her. You love Murdoc. Paula bad. Murdoc worse, but somehow okay. I get that. But for once, do what you never do. Just listen.

"So you have to believe that things are different now..." Her voice shakes at almost the same rate as mine. "And... And I want us to..."

"Paula, I can't be your boyfriend, or whatever you want, okay?" My small voice snaps to be as powerful as it can be at this rate. "I... I _really _can't explain why, but I'm in a really bad place right now, and I- And I can't do this, and I just want to go home..."

"Who says I want to be your god damned girlfriend?!" She beats my vocal snap by ten points. "And I'm not trying to get into your life again here, but that doesn't mean I don't want to stop it from becoming a big greasy ball of shit."

"Ew."

"I'm serious, okay?" She sounds like it too. Even if the last few words to exit her mouth included _greasy ball of shit. "_It's just... You ran out of there so quick. All it was was a question."

"That was a stupid question, and I reserve the right to ignore it."

"Keep your rights." She grumbles with badly hidden ignorance. "I really don't give a shit that you didn't answer it. What I do give a shit about, is that you're melting under the pressure of your own steaming head. We all agree, kid."

Stop. Hold your engines. You can't call me kid...

He calls me kid... He called me kid. And as the motors in my head stop for a moment, and pedal back down that jagged memory lane, I swear he's in the car with us.

_Hey Kid._

Yeah. Hey. Sneaking into my head in your spare time, eh Murdoc? Well why do you need to hide there? We could be real. Could have been real. Just as real as we were, if we were real at all. Shiny plastic. We were kind of just shiny plastic, weren't we? Seems so beautiful. Became so ugly.

"Are you listening to me, boy?" Another word she doesn't have the papers to call me, spewed from her dirty peach mouth. "I said everyone's worried for you."

Everyone? That's an awfully funny word to use for someone who got kicked out of being one of_ everyone_ so many years ago.

"Who's everyone? I ask, with an admittedly snotty grain in my voice. "My everyone isn't the same as your everyone."

"So, your Noodle girl might have called me..." She sounds a load less guilty than she should be. As I've told, our everyone's aren't the same, and she hasn't the right, nor the warrant to talk to Noodle. Our monkey will _not_ be associated with mules.

"Said you was acting right odd. Asked if I knew anything about it. probably suspecting I'd done something to you."

"Just lovely." I sigh at this batch of rotten news. "My ex-girlfriend, and my er- sister-thing, shooting the breeze about my head problems. Ain't that a peach? Why can't you just leave me alone, huh? My buisness ain't a lost and found bin, and you can't just go digging about in it."

"I wasn't shooting the breeze about your head problems." The anger in her voice quickly loses colour, and fades to that rasp that I used to know like the back of my hand. Like the back of _her_ hand. It brushes over me when she doesn't squawk back, or howl an insult, that I've quieted the beast.

No.

I've wiped away what sunshine she never had. Made her sad. I'm real good at that. If I was a superhero, I'd be the depresser-ator. Turning smiles the other way, every where I go. Causing sexually confused green men to flee in terror because apparently, _It's safe that way._

Safe _Never_ hurts. And the day I'm safe, is the day I either forget his sodding existence, or turn back time and clean this mess before it even dirtied the floor. And as my own realizations hit me, I wonder to myself why these options don't include getting him back.

I've realized, and this still hurts like a salted wound, that mine and Murdoc's whole thing was a game. One of them games you play where the rules are ignored, and it's fun for three minutes or three years until it ends, and no one wins, and everyone goes home a sore loser. I'm a sore loser. More so everyday.

But when I look over, and catch the lack of light in her eyes that I might have taken away. I remember that every game has a loser. Paula played her life. And she lost.

"Hey, I'm... I've been a little outa' line here." I speak to her in an almost whisper. My voice, just minorly apologetic. She catches it in that spiderweb, and I see just barely half a smile there. Used to think that was cute. What do I think now?

"Yeah, I'm regretting telling you to seatbelt it." She grumbles half of a laugh. "Could have swung you through the windscreen for that one. Teach you a valuable lesson on inertia."

Questioning whether or not she even knows what inertia is, doesn't seem like the best plan to go with right now. Especially since I'm only half sure of what it is, anyways. But I just kind of look at her. I like looking at people, you know. Especially when I've done them wrong. Feels like if theres something worse in there, and I look hard enough, I could find it and fix it. Search and destroy.

And she's not Murdoc. I look at him with disgust, and hate, and love, and rum glazed vision. But I look at her with nothing, and a glass half full of sorrow. That's the difference.

"We never had a song." She emptily speaks, and it almost seems to echo. "I heard that's why relationships fail. And y'know... The fact that I took Murdoc on might be a factor... But we never had a song."

I cock my head at angle that renders my stupid neck to pain me, and my brain too feel somewhat wiser. And I sigh. And I open my mouth and speak the lying truth.

"We had loads of songs, probably. The thing is, we didn't really care enough about each other to recognize them. We were just barely not kids. Young and stupid."

"And what else?" I add. "I'm still considerably young. And I'm still considerably stupid. Stupid enough that I'm nearly halfway through my thirties, and I'm running around avenues at night, minus my shirt."

"Who says shirts are cool anyways?"

"Succesful people, but thanks." I nod quietly, before breaking away to that same moment of epiphany. "I mean, seriously. People my age are raising up their babies, getting married, getting promotions. Swimming the english channel, I dunno'! And I'm literally sitting here, talking about how we never had a song because we were too fed up with ourselves to care about noticing one."

When she doesn't reply, it becomes pretty clear that I've done a good job of annoying, or depressing her. That usually happens when I break into these little morbid sprees. Hand in hand, time skips by and leaves me wishing I'd never spoken at all. She's too quiet. Quiet like she's thinking. One brain, thinking about how stupid mine is. Or she's thinking of the songs that we never had. It's sad. Everyone needs a song.

In time, the silence shifts and hits me right so softly in my face when she pushes out a small sigh, and clears her thought for importance.

"Did you and Murdoc have a song?"

It's funny how the first reactions are a no, and a yes, and an _I don't know, did we?_ And it's entirely completely not right that it's only my second reaction to nearly shit myself. Lie. Lie now. LIE NOW. FUCKING OPEN YOUR MOUTH AND FORCE OUT A GARBLE OF THE UNTRUE!

I can't. I litterealy can't do it. It's like if I open my mouth, my tongues going to fall out. It's like every lie... Every little lie that I've ever told, is sitting, waiting at the edge of my teeth. Waiting to clash in a fiery explosion of puke and more puke.

I'm just frozen in my lies. I can't do it anymore. Why is this the only solution for anything, is lying? I could try, but I literally can't. It's over. And she only just watches me, and my stone face. No movement. No dropped jaws. And not even that much shock.

"I said, did you and Murdoc have a song?"

I don't really feel her talk when she does. But I feel what she's saying. The words without the voice. And what angers me the most is strange. Not that she's meddling into my business. Not that she's found out, and I can't lie about it or I'll throw up. But it's the fact that she's bringing it up. I don't think it's fair to remind someone of something that you don't even know about.

And when I feel like she's about to talk again, I do something brave for my standards. I hide the lies behind my head. And with my tongue, I do something I almost feel is new. I speak in truths.

"If we did, it was a terrible song." And don't believe for one second that I'm not shaking in fear of the unknown as I talk. "And props to you, dear, for figuring out and all."

"So what, you're admitting it?" She asks with a spark of excitement in her voice. A sad thing to get excited about. She watches me with anticipation in her open eyes as I only sigh and drum me fingers on the dashboard.

"No. Maybe. I dunno'."

She chuckles to her lonesome, and looks rather pleased with her findings. "It all adds up. Right down to the fact that you got his name scarred in to your damned back, kid."

"I didn't _get_ anything scarred into my back." I grumble. "And not that it's straying too far into your business, either."

"Shaddup, I don't care that you're gay, Stuart."

"I'm not gay." So I shake that out again. And that's not even a lie, because I really don't even know.

"Whatever you feel like thinking." She breathes this clean, tranquil breath that I'm immediately jealous of. Only when her feet are kicked up onto the dashboard, do I realize we're parked somewhere. On another day, I might ask her where we are. Today doesn't feel like that day. I'm not wondering. And I don't care.

It's funny how one person can look so calm and so distraught all at once. But Paula does it. I reckon that's what I'd look like if I wasn't always a fumbling idiot. Feet on the dashboard. Eyes on the skyless ceiling. She almost becomes a part of the car.

"You know..." She sighs with her eyes smoothed over and her chin to the car's ceiling. "There's nothing really to be ashamed of here. Liking cock, and all. Plenty of people like cock, and they get along just fine."

"You really have a way of making me feel gayer than I need to feel."

She laughs at that, with the same duck squeak chuckle bouncing off of my ears. She never did have a good laugh. I reckon I liked it.

"I dunno', feel how you want." She says. "Everybody needs to feel alright. It's a whole lot more important than we make it out to be, too. If Murdoc makes you alright. Let him make you alright."

But she says it all to casually. I feel like that alone, should be carved into my head and every wall I see.

_If Murdoc makes you alright. Let him make you alright._

_"_Can I ask you something, though?" She breaks the thank-you I was almost to give her.

"It depends."

Being Paula, and no one else, she asks anyways. "Was this a love thing? I feel like if it was just a quick sheet adventure, you wouldn't be so weird and upset and grey all the time."

Again. Lying is not a factor anymore.

"Yeah, alright, I took it too seriously at first, okay?" I hide my face in my hands. Like she might laugh. "And then... After a while, he kind of did too, and everything just sort of fell together and apart from there."

"By that, you mean you dated and broke up?"

"Don't say it like that."

"But it's true?"

"Yes, fine, it's true!" I come off as bothered, but trust me, I'm only just really freaked out at everything I'm saying. "I liked him. I really liked him a whole fucking lot, and it's done, okay? I screwed up bad with you that one night. And he saw... So it's done."

I thought maybe she'd feel bad. She doesn't seem to. Just seems annoyed, if not entertained. And after another moment of given silence, she nudges me down from my grey clouded sky, and back to reality.

"What I will tell you, is that nothing that needs to be, will ever end. If it's meant to be, It'll come back."

"And another thing..." She adds after a second of thought. "Murdoc Pisses me off. And you piss me off. So as I see it, it's a match made in hell... And what did you say your song was?"

"We didn't really have one we both liked." And I would be a man of paper and plaster if those song lyrics didn't wash over my head like a toxic wave of terrible music.

_You say, I only hear what I want to_

The whole blasted song, every last terrible word hanging so beautifully off of my head. Using it torture him. Best torture I've ever done.

_My weapon of choice? Stay by Lisa Loeb_

_So I belt that shit out like my throat is a cannon, and the words are the cannon balls, which I fire straight into his ears. "AND I THOUGHT WHAT I FELT WAS SIMPLE-"_

_"OH MY FUCKING- WILL YOU JUST SHUT THAT NOISE OF YOURS, I TOLD YOU THREE TIMES ALREADY-" As of now, his hands are clasped over his ears like it might actually be dangerous to hear this._

_I carry on anyways. "AND I THOUGHT THAT I DON'T BELONG-"_

_"I WILL KILL YOU. I'LL DO WHATEVER IT TAKES, JUST QUIT IT, MY EARDRUMS ARE BLEEDING-" So now he's on his back, nearly ready to have a full blown exorcism, but I still don't care._

"It was stay by Lisa Loeb. Y'know, that awful chick ballad they use in american teen drama shows."

"Ugh, how could I forget." She cringes under the mention of this terrible tune. "And, why on gods green earth,would you choose that as your.. _uh._. song?"

That question could be the poster child for my entire life. And I need less than a second to think of the answer.

"He hated it." I say, and the smile I've pushed away can't help but surface in the slightest way. "And god, I loved to watch him hate it."

"Sounds like dirty love." She diagnoses me. "So if you like this guy so much, why don't you go off and get him back instead of macking on your ex-girlfriend in her grandparents basement."

"You make it sound easy. It's not. I've tried, believe me. He literally will not forgive me for all of this. He's going up in all this sarcasm and shit, he's all like _go hire a choir of hobo's to serenade me, and I'll forgive you. _Its just... egh."

"A choir of hobo's, huh?" She chuckles. "How do you know he wasn't kidding? Maybe he wasn't being sarcastic or whatnot."

Well, you see-... He couldn't have been... It's not something he was...

_Oh my god._ Holy shit. He wasn't serious. He was _not_ serious.

"No." I deny it. "That... No, he was _not_ serious. He was _not_ fucking serious."

"How do you know?" She shrugs. "It's worth a try."

She's right. She's so right, and you know what?

I'm miserable. I'm at the bottom of the barrel, and if hiring a a choir of homeless men is going to work, than so be it.

"I've got to go find twenty homeless men." I surprise even myself, by stuttering this and flying out her car door into what I find, is the still back parking lot behind our flat building. Huh. I guess we've been driving in circles.

Fuck it. I'm going in circles. I need to find homeless people and sheet music.

Am I actually doing this? What?

"Are you actually going to do this?" Paula speaks my thoughts just before I go.

"You were right." I shrug. "I need to be alright. He needs to be alright. And thus, I need a choir of homeless men to fix my broken relationship."

And in this moment, she smiles for me, and it's true. I feel like she's happy for me. I feel the belief in her. And I believe me too.

"That may have been the most beautiful thing I've heard in a long time." She whispers so that I can just barely hear the bit of hate for me she still holds. "You're an idiot. I mean, you're like, really dumb. So go get your hobo's kid."

And I will. I'll find them hobo's.

And I'll pray they don't have knives on them.

And I swear to god, I will find the alright. My tool to find it? A choir of drunk singing homeless men.

**AN: ANOTHER VOTE! Yes, I just love these :) They're fun.**

**Should Stuart:  
**

**A:Take the choir of homeless men to Murdoc's door.**

**B:Get Murdoc in public, and do it there.**

**Thank you all so much for waiting, I know I'm late :P Thank you for being patient! So, what'd you think? Don't forget to tell me! Love you all!**


	65. 65: It's not Fatal

**Chapter 65: It's not Fatal**

**AN: Thanks for voting, my loves. Have fun.**

So I'm crazy. But it's not my fault...

It's the lights, that make me crazy. It's those diamonds on that city skyline, and them sparkly white holes in the sky. It's light, that pulls the sanity plugs from my head, and the dead cords from my heart. Yeah. The light.

And that's the exact story that I'll tell anyone who asks, and or finds out why I'm ambushing Murdoc's flat building with a gang of soprano and alto homeless people.

"So, you're going to sneak in the back window while they force him to walk backward..." Paula explains.

The same Paula who's hidden her hatchet for now, and decided with her cheese-rejecting heart, to grudgingly assist me in making an idiot out of myself. Or at least just lend a hand with the planning.

"And when they close in on him, he'll be forced to turn around and see you, who will be there smiling and waiting, and yada-yada, hoo-ray."

This plan actually, is one that's about to be played out in less than five minutes, If I don't drown in my own sweat, or have a heart attack before hand. I'm not joking. We've got like, three minutes until a swarm of ex-cons and alcoholics make that all-powerful knock on Murdoc's door. All of which, are waiting with their greasy jazz fingers, out in front of Murdoc's flat. Another rash decision on our part, is that we've left them unattended.

Where are Paula and I? Well, we're just a couple of birds at Murdoc's back windowsill, waiting some sort of cue that hasn't been set. Paula doesn't even need to be here, really. She's just here to stop me from melting under pressure, when she's supposed to be taming the homeless dudes with her fiery charm and wit.

"Okay, okay, but..." I lose my mojo again, like I've done a good forty eight times in the last half hour. "What if he doesn't get it, and I'm just standing there like an idiot while he threatens to call animal control?"

"You're already standing here like an idiot!" She whispers for safety, and gives me a not at all convincing shrug. "So it won't be any different than what you're doing right now. And why the fuck would he call animal control on- nevermind... Besides, kid. If this guy's worth anything, he won't give a shit bout' the way you stand."

That should have pepped me up some, right? Beep. Buzz. Wrong. All of this, is ultimately degrading. If I could have done this without the help of my ex-girlfriend and a grove of drunk smelly guys, I would have. It's not like this is even going to work anyways, even with the help of my ex-girlfriend and a grove of drunk smelly guys.

I'm kind of a loser, if you haven't picked that up yet.

Losers don't win.

And to thicken the flame, my face hurts now because Paula's slapped it. Not that hard, at least. But she's got talons for fingernails, I swear it.

"Agh, keep your mits of me face!"

"Stop being negative!" She hisses in a careful whisper, while her eyes explore the perimeter just to keep safe.

"I didn't even say anything!"

"You were thinking negative things, you sad little git... 2D, who am I?"

"Gosh. You're the one that hit me, Paula. You shouldn't be the one forgetting things." I scoff with folded arms, and turn my head away all sassy-like, before she pinches my chin in a non _aunt-like _way, and pins my eyes down with hers.

"2D, who am I?"

"Paula..." I answer in a whisper that fears her eyes. Like. A lot.

"Paula who?"

"Paula Cracker."

"Right." She breathes. "And would Paula Cracker, of_ all people_, be standing here trying to help you with your little homo missions, if she didn't think you actually had a chance of winning this bloke back?"

I ignore the phrase _Homo Missions, _and look at the truth in her words. Like for instance, why is Paula helping me anyways? Paula sort of kind of hates me. And she's sort of kind of helping me win my happiness back.

But I really am terrible at thinking things over. So why think? Just answer.

"No. She wouldn't be." And with this small little grin I toss her, I find a bit of trust in the one called Paula Cracker. I mean, it's true. Paula hates me. Ish. So why else would she try to fix my so called "_Homo Problems"_ if she didn't think this might have the smallest chance of turning out okay?

And maybe trusting a Paula opinion isn't exactly the best idea.

But my opinions aren't so great either. So who am I to judge? This is it. You know what?

I breathe. And you know what? I smile, and it's a real _smile. _Because you know what? There is excitement, in these old bones. Real excitement. No plaster. No glue, or compote. But real, one hundred percent real excitement in trying.

Because I swear, on everything lost, and everything with a chance of being found, I am going to try.

"Those hobo's sound anxious. You ready, kiddo?" Those lips call me kiddo again, and if my hopes are graced and granted, the next time I hear that word it will be coming from him. Smile, or not. It will be leaving those lips.

I realize she's waiting for an answer. I realize that I _should_ answer.

If the world was cute, and quaint, and perfect, than my mouth would spread wide a cheesy smile before I'd sigh and say something perfect like _I've been ready since the day that man walked out of my life. _Wouldn't that be the perfect fit, for such a sunset like this one? For such a charming guy as me?

Ha. I say ha to that, my friend. It's three skips past two o'clock, and the sun hasn't a dream of setting early. Plus another minor point being, that the day I become charming, will be the same day that the crown jewels are placed on my air centered head. The point here being, is that I'm not going to come up with a good answer.

"Heh... Yeah." But I'm still smiling like an idiot when that word falls from my mouth like loose gravel. But you know, idiots have the best smiles. Even if they do have the worst ideas on how to get their mates back.

"Good. Not that it mattered anyway. I would have made you do this, ready or not." Her face is sassy, but there is laughter behind those frowning lips that want to smile. "Oh, also I just remembered. Take these."

In this non chelant-Paula way, she begins to dig for something in her bag, before retrieving this mystery item and pushing it into my hands. My eyes take it in. The mystery item is apparently a pair of douchy sunglasses.

"What am I needing these for? I'm breaking into a flat with a choir of homeless men, not stealing the declaration of independence..."

"Because." She groans in a _You should already know this _way. "If he turns around and sees just you, it'll be too Nicholas Sparks. On the other hand, if he turns his head and you've got a pair of _cut-throat-fuck-me-now_ sunglasses on, it'll add a little james bond, or Pulp Fiction to the mix. Make it a tad less gay, you know?"

"Paula."

"Do you want me to be your love guru, or not?"

"You ain't my love guru, you're my _breaking into a guys flat with a bunch of homeless guys _guru."

But Paula has this look that takes out the knees. And by god she uses it, and not a half of a second later am I wearing a pair of douchy _cut-throat-fuck-me-now _sunglasses.

When the cue comes, she knows, and I don't. I actually, wasn't aware there even was a cue, but apparently there is, and when it hits, she is a snake. Quietly slipping away, while i'm left to faint, or pee out my anticipation.

So it gets boring. And so, I make a thing out of playing with cigarette stubs, and rocks, and toothpicks, until I realize that the longer I stand, the more I grow into this wall. You've heard me.

I'm so bored that I'm actually _becoming_ a wall.

So I wait. And I wait again. And I wait another time. And I wait a good six more times until I realize I have absolutely no idea whatsoever when I'm supposed to climb through this window. Or if it's even open to begin with. Did Paula say she picked the lock already? Yeah. I'm sure she did. But did she?

_Knock...Knock Knock_

And when that sound happens, I wonder. How many knocks have I heard in my life? How many of them have been as important as this one? How many of those knocks have been my cue? Is this my cue? Do I jump in now? What the hell do I do? Why didn't you tell me what to do, Paula, you crazy wonderful bitch?!

It's these glasses. I peer into the darkness of this window that stays only darkness because of these damned glasses. Why I keep them on, I can't tell. Because maybe if I do, the sky will fall on my pretty little head. That, is my current logic. That little chunk of wisdom, is my current brain.

But something moves, in there. A twitch. A flash of movement in the dark. Body parts. Like, these are arms, and legs, and a head and shit. There's a guy in there. There's a dude in there... Murdoc is that body. And he's answering the door.

It's like real live slow motion. A kind of slow motion that takes its turn in the blink of an eye, and leaves you to be a watching face in the window. An interactive movie. And Im the audience. And I'm watching his hand twist the knob... and I'm saying...

I'm saying _Don't do it. Don't you dare open that door... But please do. Open it. Open it. No, don't. Or... do?_

But the surprise party goes down in just below five seconds. The door opens, and in stalks a flood of homeless singing zombies. Eight ot ten or fifteen men of grime and booze and lost hopes, piling in and rushing like a human car. And I just watch Murdoc back away from them in the dark.

I almost don't catch them sing. I almost don't catch the words of the song that I never gave to them. The song that Paula's planned. But then I do hear... I hear those words... And I cringe. And I smile.

_You say... I only hear what I want to_

The worst song, sung by the of worst people. But I shouldn't say that. I shouldn't compare real live people to this terrible song. This should have been expected. I mean, what did I expect? Don't stop believing? Safety Dance? Safety Dance would have been a good one. Or maybe even- Oh shit ,he's backing up! Stuart, climb your arse into that window, or so help me god, we are going through with killing your sorry excuse for a person! (Joking, joking.)

I'm not spiderman or nothing, but at moments like this, I can climb and unlock like a master. So I do it. So help me god, time is running away hand in hand with my sanity, so I unlatch that shit, and I hop my arse over faster than you can repeat everything I've just said. Or thought. Whatever, I'm about to puke, give me a break.

And in the time it takes for me to realize that this room doesn't smell like him, I'm in.

And in the time it takes for me to take in the surroundings and realize that it's not dirty and pathetic in here, he's backing into me.

And in the time it takes for me to realize that these glasses are too dark for me to recognize people, I realize something that would have been good to realize a long time ago.

Once when Murdoc was off his sanity and wasted into the ground, he'd told me something. He can't _stand _the number fifteen. He can not, _will_ not have anything, or deal with anything that has to do with the number fifteen. Let alone live in apartment fifteen.

This is apartment fifteen. Right there, on the door? Fifteen. Printed right there. And the guy backing into me? He's screaming. Murdoc doesn't scream like that, let alone scream at all. Murdoc also, as it happens, doesn't have curly blonde hair. Or freckles.

So from what I've gathered here, this isn't Murdoc. This is some blonde curly headed guy getting ambushed by singing hobos. Yeah. Wrong place.

"Calling it off! Wrong guy!" If I wasn't already panicking, I am now. Cheeks heating up like fire in these homeless guts. Dizzy. Headache. Yeah, I would call this panic.

"WRONG GUY! THIS IS THE WRONG GUY, CALLING IT OFF!"

Come on, these people are HOMELESS, not stupid! Okay, maybe some of them are stupid, but they should still be able to hear me! The flood goes on, and this poor curly son of a bitch is just the center of the circle they're closing. I call for Paula, but she's not here. She's somewhere outside, and my calls for help are locked behind a wall of manic singing.

_Some of us hover when we weep for the other who was dying since the day they were born_

That's all there is to be heard. The sound of a terrible song being belted by homeless ne'er do-wells. My silent panicking is drowned by the guy freaking out in the middle, and the sea of stinky people in which I am lost in.

You know why? Because THIS. ISN'T. MURDOC.

Nope... That guy is Murdoc. The man in the square of darkness biting-sun that is the open door. The angry neighbor who must have no idea in his steaming head, of just what the fuck is going on here. But he looks angry. And he looks musty, and ragged, and tired. But just the slightest bit amused. And of course, ticked off by this stupid song.

"What does a guy have to do to-"

It sounded angry, what he was about to say. I wish I could have caught the rest of it before his nose was socked in for maybe the tenth time in his life.

And not an eye but mine saw the man in rags that Murdoc stepped in front of. Just another homeless man. But when I play it back, it's a screenplay. Murdoc stepping in. Creeping up. Being unknowingly sneaky. But he scared that guy. And what do people do when they're scared?

They hit. And so? Murdoc was hit. In the nose. Again.

All I can see on his face are his hands blocking up party streamers of red, that are actually blood. I can't see his eyes. All I can see are my faults. He's swearing. He's angry. I'm just looking around, and so is the curly guy, because the homeless people are still singing loud, and proud.

But if theres something I'm used to doing for Murdoc, it's running.

You know, I really like this guy. And I really _really _hate this guy. It's quite a storm of emotions. But I can run for him. And so, I do. Sorry Paula. But I'm leaving this mess of scared curly guys and homeless people for you to clean up. I cut through this smelly forest of staggering arms and legs.

And the moment I break through and let myself be seen, is the moment I see his eyes.

Jesus christ, are they pissed. And if those hands weren't the walls to a dam of blood, they'd be the cause of my death. But they are the walls to a dam of blood. So I just take him by his shoulders, and I ignore his muffled swears.

And we drive out of the forest of arms and legs.

I can hear him asking. _Where are we going?_

_You fucking idiot._

_What are you doing here?_

_My fucking nose!_

But at the same time, I can't hear him because I'm laughing. Yeah. He's bleeding and swearing and fighting, but it ain't fatal, so I'm laughing.

Do you know how great it feels to laugh when all you've been giving are sighs? And do you know how much better it feels to laugh at the expense of a friend? Of a lover?

"It's not fatal." I laugh. And I laugh. And I laugh. "Come on. Lets get you fixed up, or something."

And I laugh. He doesn't. Why would he? But he's here. And he's in my control. And again? I laugh. Because afterall... He's here. With me.

And it's not fatal...

**AN: Owch, that was a close vote! But thanks for doing it, and thanks for being patient with me! Love you all.**

**Hey, what did you think? Go ahead and tell me!**

**New cover by Gorillazobsessor :)**

**Thanks.**


	66. 66: Cureing the Bassbumps

**Chapter 65: Curing the Bassbumps**

**REVIEWER VOTE!**

The first thing that catches me are the bass bumps.

Just cuts through a small film of warm greasy blood on his fingertips. The blood however, is a result of his rotten luck with nasal injuries, which has ended up in a ninth or tenth or so dripping of that poor nose.

The cuts are small and few and quiet. But I can see them because I can admit that I was looking for them. Not a self harm thing, or anything like that. Bass bumps aren't even bumps at all, now that I think about it. But little baby scratches and cuts, that glow sometimes a fleshy pink, at the tips and pads of his dry fingers.

It's one of the hidden treasures about Murdoc. When stress gets bad, he drinks more than usual. When stress gets worse as it always does, he doubles his dose of cigarettes. And when stress or anger, or love for a weirdo grow too high, he plays bass. More than usual. More than ever. His day is split into ten parts, and nine of those ten parts he will be speaking his troubles through the string of the bass. And those strings are considerably sharp. Thus, the cuts.

Thus, bass bumps.

I think of telling him this because the laughter dropped sometime after I got him to walk normally with me, and leave the kicking and screaming behind with a pool of blood and a bigger pool of homeless men. And without my laughing at his expense, there is quite literally no noise but dead wind, and maybe a passing train if I'm correct.

"Are there train tracks by here?"

He murmurs something, maybe. I couldn't make it out through the hand over his nose, which is still bubbling with his own rich blood. I'd say yuck, but it's kind of my fault.

"We need to get that looked at, y'know..."

"_You_ need to go home, that's what you need to do." He tells in a bitter hushed tone. "I'll deal with this later."

"What, you want me to go home?" My fingers twiddle in the safety of my pockets, so not to show him that I'm scared. Of what, I don't know. But I am.

"That would be preferred."

I smile just the smallest bit because I can smell his lies through the stench of blood and fags and sweat and anger. But I hide the smile under that same ugly fear that he will always hold over my head.

"Then why don't you leave?"

"Excuse your french?"

"If you'd wanted me gone, you would have done me away the easy way by just walking off with yourself." I explain, but I don't think he gets it. "But you're still here... And I'm still here."

His witty comebacks are tired for a change. He looks tired, too. "So you are."

"So I am." But I fade from pride to worry as he bleeds. "I'd drive you to the doctors, but I drove to your flat with Paula, so I ain't got a car. You want we should take a taxi, or something?"

"Where'd you pick up the idea that I was going to the doctors?"

"Oh, I don't know." I steal some of his old sarcasm and roll my eyes. "Maybe from the fact that this nose of yours is errupting red snot, and it's kind of gross."

"You don't need to look at it, so the problem remains out of your concern."

"I just said gross, and you didn't say ernk." I complain with a _Tsk _and a _Tsk._ "You're not playing fair. Rule breaker."

"Coming from one who's just commited a crime. Yeah. And _I'm_ the rule breaker, here."

The brains in my head must have flushed away with my common sense, and everything else, because it's only now that I realize I could get in serious trouble for what went down. It _was_ breaking and entering, and I'm not so sure the jurey will accept _It was for love, _as an excuse.

And so comes the twist. That little twist you get in the pit of your stomach that just about sickens your day with nerve and worry, if your day wasn't already sick enough already. I ignore it for the time being. Worry only makes the sick sicker.

"We'll not talk about that, okay? I did it for you, anyways..." And when that one doesn't hit, and leaves a staleing silence, I jump back to his nasal health. "And man, your nose is still gushing out. We _really should_ go to a doctor, or something."

"I haven't been to a doctor in eight years, and thats a record I'm not breaking for the sake of your worry."

"Muds, this isn't-"

"Murdoc. My name is Murdoc."

"Murdoc..." A sigh, from my cold cracked soul. "This isn't a pride issue. It's a _health _issue. A record to brag about isn't worth fucking your nose over even more so than it already is..."

When I decide by his silence and my lack of ideas, that he's not going to fork over his permission, I give in and offer my own "_medical genius"._

"Least let me look at it."

"Oh? And what do you know about nose injuries?"

"I know that me mums a nurse, I can fix a broken nose, and you've got one." All three of these facts being true, I tip my nose to the sky very matter o' factly... Well.. Except for fact number two. Fact number two might only be half true.

"You'll keep your hands off my face, thank you very much." He bitterly replies.

"You're scared, aren't you?" I laugh at this childish fear. "Scared of doctors, and scared of me."

"Just because you run faster than me doesn't mean I can't slow you down with a swift kick to the kneecap. Remember that."

He says that... But his talk is all brain. He might smack me lightly once in a while. Maybe even kick me in the buttcheek for for laughs. But I think the serious injuries have faded to never again. I think that morning he counted my scars, was the morning he counted his priorities as well, and maybe decided that I was one of them...I don't think he wants to hurt me...Not anymore. Or at least not seriously.

The thought of counting things like scars and priorities, takes me to counting the seconds that pass before I hear anything but rocks beneath my feet, and the wind playing in the trees. Fourty, at least. Maybe a minute before I speak again.

"Let me clean it for you, alright? Even if you're not comfortable with letting me fix it, just let me stop the bleeding or something. You faint from bloodloss, I swear to you, I am _not _carrying your arse back, cause' it's going to be all on your own unintelligant behalf."

"Kid, shut your teeth and I'll let you paint your own portrait with my nose fluids."

Kid. There it is again. Like catching the glimpse of a rare bird, or an old friend. It's there. So small. So invisible. But he said it. It's not _I love you._ There were never many _I love you's_ to go around. But _kid..._ Kid is something. Shake it off. Pick it up, Stuart.

"Will you really?" I ask, with fake interest that he can thankfully understand.

"No, but I'll let you clean it. That is, if you quit yanking my pant leg and let the earth sing its own songs without you cutting in with your constant yapping."

And that's how the stars aline themselves to my luck, and we end up even deeper into this grassy nowhere. I'll admit that I haven't an idea where we are anymore. But it's grassy here. Like a field, or something. But there are trees. And oceans of grass and rocks and weeds here and there. But the road is close by. And it's secluded. A semi-perfect place for this pretend hospital.

So I kneel. He sits with his hands to his knees. And the nursing so begins, I guess.

My hands are messed for the first time, with Murdocs blood. It feels like we're breaking new, weird ground. Like there's the first time you kiss someone. And the first night in bed, of course. And then there's the first time you get their blood on your hands. That's a new one for the magazines.

Today isn't that dry on luck. There was a thin tissue in my coat pocket, not thick enough though to stop the blood flow. The fabric on my hoodie sleeves are cottony, and absorbent, and useful enough. But the colour is a light grey, which hints that blood stains might not be able to come so easily out of it.

"This isn't working." I tell the guy with the redblotted sweatshirt sleeve stuck up his nose, like he doesn't already know. "You's a bloodbank all on your own. Know what though? You taught me something one time."

He says something like_ "And what would that be?", _but people with large sections of cloth stuffed into their face are hard to understand, so I do the speaking.

"And it worked alright. Remember when you kind of like-man handled my nose back when we all gathered back at kong? When Noodle'd concked out heads together and left me with that nosebleed? Welp. Lets see what you think of it."

I cut through his objections, and just throw his head back like he did mine, and begin with the man handling. Or really just nose pinching. Still. I don't shake him like he shook me, cause' that might actually inflict some damage, or something. I don't know if his nose is broken yet, but I'm sure as hell not going to try and break it. So I just hold his head back with one hand, and pinch his nose with the other as he suffers mildly.

"Gnghnph!" He says, if _Gnghnph_ is even a word to be said. _Few more seconds_, I tell him. _Just a few more, you're alright._._._ But a few more seconds is an actual thirty, before I set the bird free, and watch as the beak bleeds no more.

"Hey!" I chuckle. Stop. Spit on a patch of redless fabric. Rub that extra blood goodbye. "It worked, huh?

"Pardon me..." He interupts my almost maternal scrubbing of his nose. "But did you just rub your SPIT into my face?"

"Naw. I rubbed spit onto this jacket, an' rubbed the _jacket _into your face."

"If disgusting was a person, you'd be his right hand man."

"Oh hush." I perk up half of a smile as his face appears to be spring clean of that nasty bloody mess. My hands and jacket however, aren't as lucky. "I could have just contracted aids right here, if I had any cuts on me fingers. Hows your shnoz doing, then?"

"Mangled and aching and caked in your own spit." He deadpans, only to break from it only slightly with the smallest flake of gratitude in his voice. "But clean. And not leaking like a silve anymore."

I nod my head. "Ay. You're welcome for that, bud."

"I never said thank you."

"Yeah, well you never said I wasn't thanked, neither." My last few words left a snail trail of frustrated anger. A slimy one, too. The kind that leaves the conversation too sticky too handle.

But what isn't sticky and uncomfortable, is wherever we are. Litteraly, wherever we go. We, the most ugly and greedy and dysfunctional of people, attract the most beautiful of places. Ones like this, with a grey sky that seems tolerable. Places with soft grass, that doesn't itch the naked parts of your ankles. Where the highway leaks in from one side into a vast field of dead flowers and weeds and soft grass, only to quietly flood into an ocean of the kinds of trees that stay alive in the winter. Look in a place like this, and I bet you you'll find us. Two bad people in a beautiful place.

And just being here... I want to talk to him. Even if it doesn't mean love, I want to be something to him. I want to be his friend. He hates me. So I'll be his enemy. It's okay. I want to be something to Murdoc Niccals. To know him is something different all on its own.

"I'm sorry." I say it too quick. Too randomly. And with the flicker of an approaching sigh in his chest, he thinks I'm apologizing for our failure to be together. So I quickly tell otherwise.

"For your nose. I mean, I didn't hit you or nothing, but I set up this whole thing. You've saw that much. So I guess this is kind of my fault, huh?"

"Kind of your fault? Yeah. Kind of a lot your fault." He says in a booze craving hush. "But if you're going to apologize, don't do it for the nose thing. Be sorry for the putrid song you've gotten lodged into my head."

"You saw that, huh?" And I kind of cringe when he nods to the ground. "Yeah. Owch. I mean, I did it for you, obviously. You know that. I know that. And still, I'm getting embarrassed over it."

"You think _you're_ embarrassed." He scoffs a scoff that I missed too much. "You're lucky you went to the wrong door. Even if Hergolsyn does press charges. Iron bars are better than a coffin. That implying, I would have killed you if you if you actually came jaunting through my door with a parade of drunken lunatics."

"Mm.. Yeah."

So then I'm stuck. I want to tell him things. Oh _god,_ I want to tell him things. I want to love him, but he's scared. We're both scared, god damnit!... And if not love Murdoc, let me be your friend. If you didn't like my touch, than I wont touch you. We'll just take walks, and watch cartoons, and fall asleep in separate beds, and I'll never utter the world love again. Just let me be your friend. Let me be something to you.

Then I remember. I remember something important, because I'm good at remembering.

I remember that I've got nothing to lose but the things that I've already lost. So once you've lost everything, why not try and get some of it back? So I kick at some loose dirt, and it spatters away as a reminder that if you kick something around, it's going to spatter away. And I breathe in so hard at those clouds that I feel I might inhale them and die if my mouth doesn't shut.

And I just see this empty cityskirt here that is maybe the countryside, or something like it... And I see the emptiness... And I see the living, breathing opportunities... And I remember something else.

There is nothing to scare you but being scared. And with this fear of mine, and an eager heart, there is nothing left to lose in the world.

But him.

"Hey."

"What?"

"I miss you." Whoosh goes the bravery. And whoosh goes a sigh from his chest.

"Don't, alright?"

"I think you've got me wrong here..." I look at him, but he won't look at me. He likes the sky, and I like him. We look to what we like.

"I understand. I understand that you're done with this whole working out a relationship thing... Alright. Okay. I've accepted it, whatever... But how long has it been? Since nineteen ninety seven? What is that, fifteen years? You want to throw away fifteen years?"

"For the sake of your safety and mine?" He barely moves, if not at all. "Sure."

"No." I put my foot down. I put my voice down. It's a shouting whisper. And I put everything on the table for him to look at.

"Because you know what? If you don't love me, then okay! You never loved me in the first place. You loved the fact that I needed you. You loved the fact that there was someone on this earth, that woke up everyday and looked for you. And _needed_ you all the same. And not the stage you. Not the you that the fans want. But the real Murdoc Niccals, the Murdoc Niccals that I knew."

He asks me with his mind. And never his voice... And it says... It says _Which Murdoc Niccals did you know, Stuart? Which one? Which of the thirty million Murdocs inside this one did you love the most?_

"I knew the Murdoc that knew me." I shrug without fear, without anger. It's sudden ease. "The guy who knew me better than I know myself. And you know what? Now that I know you, I ain't going to forget so easy. So you don't want to love me? Fine. But be my friend. Stay up late, and watch cartoons with me! Play sports, play video games, watch movies. Be my friend! I _love _you, Murdoc. Fuck, I love you_ so god damned much_... But I want my mate back. I want my friend...I just need you_ here_."

His shell is as thick as the heart inside. And so he still won't look at me. Just the sky, just the fucking sky. The feelings were easier for me to expel than I thought. Easy enough, that he should be able to do it too. But I can't expect that from him. I know that I can't. But I wish that I could.

"And look..." I smile again softly, at the scratched pads of those sore fingers that I pick up and just rub gently with my own fingers. "You've got bass bumps. I could make them go away... If you'd let me."

...And with the hushed ending of my words, we are leaning in to get those words closer. Kissing. Kissing again. He tastes like blood, and coffee, but something in me doesn't mind it. I push us down below the tall grass where we hide, and our chests are touching, and I take whats mine. His tongue, and his lips, and my place in his arms. I shouldn't say we. I'm the one who started this mouth meeting thing, afterall.

But believe me when I say that he's kissing back. His mouth is open, and playing, and taking, and receiving, and I can feel the want in his breath...And for a split second, the tangle of his fingers in my hair... Just us. In the quiet, hiding beneath the tall grass. My blood dried hands on his cheeks... And would you believe it if I told you that I was the one that pulled our lips apart?

Just quietly... Just gently. Just to catch his glance. Because I need to know something. This was a test, as well as a perk. A chemistry experiment, if you will. I look at him. He looks at me. We breathe together, our mouths only specks away... And I take my teeth from my bottom lip. Stop the biting... And ask something.

"Did you... Did you feel anything?"

"No."

"...Are you lying?"

And as the seconds die, and new ones are born, he leaves me just to stare into his lying eyes until he feels ready to answer."...Yeah."

I could kiss again... I'm sure he could too. But it's not right for this second. It's just not. I need to think. No, I don't need to think, I need to have a mental breakthrough... I pull away from him and chew my thumbnail to get the nerves out, like that could actually work. I let him go, and he lets me go. We sit. Nothing more than sitting.

But he felt it. It's still there, whatever is it. And I want him to feel it again. I want him to tell me that he feels it again...

I know... I know that you can't force words on people who don't like to talk in the first place... But I would settle for _Okay._ I would settle for _fine._ I would settle for the subtle movement of those statue lips. Maybe even move them into mine again. But he just looks, and looks into away, and it pains me to wonder what goes on inside that skull. I pray without religion, that those thoughts are of me.

And when his eyes flicker back, and his jaw slowly moves to ready words, I pray that he keeps quiet. Because I get afraid again. But he's got this look in his eyes. This look of cold dreams, and quiet astonishment. Like he's looking for something in the sky that he's missed.

"I had this dream..." The whisper is bored, and in no way matches his eyes that linger in those dreams.

"Yeah?" I ask with peaking interest, as the disappointment washes away. "I didn't know you dreamed..."

"Everybody dreams, kid. It's like eating... and sleeping." He doesn't move. Not once. It's like he's dreaming right now. "If you don't dream, you're either a liar, or you're dead. Everyone does it. It's your mind taking a mental dump at the end of the day."

Mental dump. He's always got to make everything about poop, hasn't he? So I just kind of discard that part, and leave the nice parts.

"What of?" I realize as I speak, that my thumb still strokes his. I leave it there. "What was this mind dumping dream of yours, Murdoc?"

"I... I uh..." He seems to be fogging up. Squinting his eyes. Hesitant to tell me. Maybe it was a bad one. Dreams can hurt you just as well as real life can. But I wait. I can always wait. And I wait, until the glass in his eyes breaks. And his chest rises. And the dream lives.

"I saw a bird." He mutters in boredom. "And uh... I guess I wanted to catch it... And so I tried to catch it... And I did. With claws. And force. And anger, I guess... And you know what? The thing died. Killed it. I killed it good... Don't think I wanted to... And I looked over behind me... _All of these other birds..._ You want to know what they did?"

"Sure."

"They flew away."

I swear for a moment we are birds. And for that moment, living and loving, and breaking up is as easy as flying away. But moments are moments... And moments don't last. So again, we are Murdoc and Stuart. And we're in this field. Not the sky. Never the sky.

And I may not understand what that means. I've understood a hundred things, and misunderstood a thousand more. But I'd be lying if I said I understood what he meant.

"Like a smart bird should..." He nods to himself. Maybe the bird in his head is cortez? I hardly see why he'd need to think of cortez at a moment like this. "Flew away..."

We'll die in the field. At this rate, we will. Nobody wants to move. Nobody wants to talk. I think we just want to sit, and breathe, and live in this moment where nobody is hurt, or crying, or deciding, or fighting. Stay in the frozen moment. But frozen moments get cold. And when they chill your feet, you hop off of them.

"You know what's wrong here?" He asks, with that glass lingering again in his eye.

"Do I want to know?"

He answers anyways. "I'm sober. And it's not a pretty feeling. How much cash you got on you?"

"Enough for groceries." I shrug. "Not enough for a pound of cuban cut cocaine. What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking, that since my aching and bleeding is a result of your own dopey choices, you could splurge on a bottle of southern comort. Y'know. That's sort of half way in between groceries and cuban cocaine."

"If you're looking for pain reliever, I've got a few vikes in me pocket." That doesn't reassure him at all, and he flashes me those angry-worry-cocktail eyes. I'm unsure why for a moment, before the memory kicks in. You know. The one of how me and pills don't exactly mix that well...

"No, no." I wave off his jumped conclusion and shake my head. "I'm not really on them anymore. Part of kicking them is carrying them around in your pocket. You know they're there, if you need them. Which I don't. It just sort of helps."

He believes me, and he doesn't need to say it. There's trust in the air, that could only have been given off by him. So he just looks at me for a moment. Studying me. Sniffing for lies. And he doesn't find any. Just nods it off.

"Right...Let's get gone, then. If my head isn't swimming within the hour, you're fired." I don't ask him what I'm fired as. His mate? His assistant? His friend? Maybe he doesn't know. And maybe I'm not supposed to know.

But that's how we leave the field. With a swarm of thoughts from me, and a grunt and a sigh from him. I know somehow, that we'll never be back here again. The field is buried, with the rest of todays happenings, in the back of his head. And possibly mine.

But maybe not. If memories don't burn, they most certainly don't bury.

**TO BE CONTINUED: ALSO, MORE REQUESTED VOTING.**

**Should Murdoc:**

**A:Take 2D to the liquor store**

**Or**

**B: Get nervous and back off**

**Don't be afraid, cause' I have a different GOOD outcome for each thing. It's all in your curiosity.**

**Thanks for reading, and what'd you think? Have a good one :)**


	67. 67: Still Listening

**Chapter 67: Still Listening**

**AN: Right. Voting counted and all! Let's see some drunkies.**

There were trains...Not trains, tracks... But train tracks are just train footprints. Yeah. You know what? My head wasn't lying to me after all. I heard them, and swore I'd seen them chugging and dancing in my head, and maybe the dragon milk spinning in my stomach was the guide to show me that.

Dragon milk. That's what he calls it. ironically uncomfortable mix of Southern comfort and milk. He calls it dragon milk. Says he used to sneak it into class in the fifth grade. Yeah. Fifth. Less than two drops of alcohol had touched _my _lips until I got out of highschool. I think he's still talking about it, maybe. But it's too pretty out here. I'm too drunk. The world is too pretty, and I'm too drunk to care about silly things like words, which I don't like much after all.

I'm too focused on the body, and the mind, and the mouth that creates, and thinks, and pushes those words like a tightly knit, but slightly nonfunctioning factory. Too glad that he's here. Glad. Glad he doesn't hate me. Glad he's talking. Smiling with me. Talking with me. Alive. Alive with me.

"Shut your face." I hiss at our ending argument, but can you keep a secret? I'm not really mad. But acting mad is fun. He thinks I'm serious, but I can't even walk these tracks without tripping up. That's not very serious. "How did we get here?"

"We walked, or jumped here or something."

"How do you jump to a place that's like... A a..ss...heh... smile away?" I sass him, and I sass him good. He just kind of laughs, and looks at the brush and bushes and trees around the tracks. "What? Why are you laughing at me? I'll sue you for being rude."

"You said a smile away, instead of a mile away." He smirks in a half adorable way. "An I was just thinking, like... What if that were true, eh? Wouldn't that be a thing if all it took to get a mile away from here, or anywhere, was just to smile? Just like that?"

"That sounded so incredibly gay-oof!" Karma hits me fast, I guess, because with a wrong step, I plummet off the rail I've been balancing on, and hit the dirty ground with a soft arse. Murdoc don't care. He just laughs. Don't give a shit. Laughing.

"You just got assaulted by a railroad track." He hunches over in his cruel chuckles. "That's what you get for calling me gay."

I get up rather quickly because I want to walk and drink and stuff, and you can't really do that on your arse. "I didn't say you was gay. I said what you _said _was gay. And anyways, you _are _gay, so it wasn't even false information there."

"I'm not gay." He says, except for yeah he is, cause' i just dusted some dirt off my butt, and his eyes were _not _averted, and he was _not _hiding.

"Yeah you are, you just looked at my butt!" I turn the tables and laugh at his problems instead. "Plus we've dated on like, two separate occasions."

"Don't say dated, it sounds silly."

"You're silly!" I shout back in an annoyed tone, that doesn't go too well with my words. "What-'hic'... What do you want me to say, you've _ "courted me_" on like two separate occasions?"

"Courted is better than dated." He smiles smugly, but I see nothing to be smug about. Just a smug little man, I guess. Maybe he's always smug like that. Or maybe it's just cause his stomach is _"courting" _a sour mixture of vicodin and dragon milk. He's high on life, and the drugs that come packaged along with it. "_Dated _makes you sound like an estrogen leaking pre-teen."

"Alright, Murdoc." I hiss, still only half serious. It's cute when he thinks I'm mad... Specially when he's drunk... Cause he tries to be nicer, and such. "If saying we "courted" makes you feel better about the fact that you like my butt, than okie-doo."

"It's okie dokie. You just mixed okie dokie and whoop die doo. Pick one or the other."

"It doesn't matter, you're g- 'hic' you're getting really just... way off topic here." I complain, but he doesn't seem to listen, judging by his head, which stays thirty or more feet above us both, lolling about in the sky.

"Were we even on a topic in the first place?" He smiles, and for the life of me I don't know why. I'm trying to be pretty serious here. This is serious stuff! Maybe not totally and completely serious, because I'm kind of laughing a little bit right now, but still.

"Yes." I refute in irritation. "I was trying to diagnose your homosexuality, and or our rotten relationship. And YOU my friend, are smiling about and being an idiot like it's going to actually get you somewhere in life."

"It's like you said. A smile away." He shrugs, and turns his chin up to me. I want to punch that face. I want to punch that face because it looks so... happy. And I'm jealous. I'm jealous that he's happy without me. That there are other things besides me that get him through the long days. How selfish is that? How incredibly terribly selfish is that?

"Leave me alone." I snark back at him. "I said _mile_, not smile. And you know it, and you're j-just being mean and not nice and it's very rude. Where's that jug of alchoholly milky shit? Did you hide it again?"

"You're drunk enough."

"You're drunk enough, give it to me!" Utterly convinced that he's got it hidden in him somewhere, I begin to badger him restlessly with my hands. Just poking around at him. Inspecting his crevices. Looking for stolen southern comfort milk.

"You drank it all, doll. And then threw up behind the gas station. You can't hold your drinks too well."

"Bull shit, I drank it all!" I push him backward. Pull him backward. Wanting him to fall, because for this red little thirty seconds, I've never been more pissed in my life. Maybe I did drink a little bit more than I'd planned. Because here comes the backfire. And I'm on my arse again. Yes.

Face in the dirty dirt. Mind in the dirty everywhere else. I'm done. And I can hear the birds teasing me. And the trees laughing. And the wind whistling at my downfall. Everything in nature, singing the song of my defeat. And I think the only thing I don't hear laughing is him?

Giggling, sure. But giggling in a nice way, if that's possible. And there's this shift in the air, and with it, I know he's sitting down beside me, as I lay face down waiting for my forehead to bruise. My hair ruffles in the wind. But it's not the wind. It's his hand.

Theres a moment where we just sit there. Nobody laughing. No talking. No emotions. Except for I feel like I might cry. And I... And I don't _know _why. I always get mood swings when I'm drunk like this, but this feels different.

It hurts so bad to look back on how full you used to be, when you're so empty now.

"Everything's laughing at me." I whine into the dirt that rubs a bad taste off into my mouth. Somehow it tastes better than the air up there.

"Nobody's laughing at you, you clumsy little runt." He assures me. It's no less calming, especially with the salt added to the wound which is his insult.

"Don't _'hic'_ call me that." I command him weakly. "Just leave me here to-to get hit by trains and such. Go away. I suck. This all sucks. I'm just the arse crack of humanity."

"Don't you sound just _awfully _cheery. Come on, then. You get hit by a train, I'll probably get blamed for it. What's the dealio?"

I ignore the fact that his alchohol level has raised to a high enough point, that he actually just said dealio. I go back to sinking into the cold earth where I'll eventually die off and become just another strand of grass to be crushed under feet like mine. So thats sort of what I say.

"I dunno'..." I whisper. Almost hoping for him not to hear me. "But I've just realized with that fall how shitty everything is. I'm an ex- addict who lives with his ex-girlfriend because his ex-boyfriend-mate thing doesn't love him anymore. There are too many ex-thingies in my life."

"It's getting kinda'late." He flips this subject for a clean one. "Maybe I should get you home, or whatever."

"I don't have a home." I tell him, in this little, little voice. Weakened by the truth. "Paula's house isn't home. I might as well be one of those hobos that serenaded you."

The pause isn't quiet. In fact, this pause is inhaibited by wind and breathing and trees and birds. But we live in a world where any noise is quiet when no one is talking. And I don't know if I was uncomfortable with it... But I'm glad when he talks again.

"Glad to hear that." He beams. Yes, beams. In _my _melancholly precense.

"Glad to hear what?" I mope, still without the urge to move from my sprawl. "Glad to hear that I'm _'hic'_ getting crushed under my own expectations for myself? Glad to hear that my life ammounted to nothing but being a sap who lives with his ex-girlfriend? Glad to hear that I'm dead before my own death?"

"No." He chuckles. Doesn't absorb anything I say at all. "Glad to hear you're ready to sit down for a few minutes. Me feet was getting tired, you know."

"Pleased by my downfall." Grumbles me. "Typical Murdoc."

"Your drunken mood swings are just awful." He shakes his head. Or at least I feel like he is. Damned if I can see a thing like this. "You sound like a teenage girl. All this "Woe is me" stuff. C'mon, 2D. We've both just injested like a gallon each of crappy alchohol. 'Hic'. Lighten up, Doll."

On the fragile ending of the word doll, his hand makes a land to my head again. Ruffling my hair in ways that he used to... Just being a good, cheery friend... But this is different. Friends stop. But here, under the retiring sun that melts into orange skies, his hand travels. From my hair... To my neck. Just toying around. Petting. Making light circles with his finger.

_...And it's okay because he's drunk._

_No..._That is complete, and utterly stinky bullshit. It's not okay. If he doesn't like me anymore, why is he playing with me like this, eh? I'll tell you why. We're both idiots. Big, fat, gay, stupid, idiots. What Murdoc, do you think I've forgotten? Do you think I've just moved on to the point where it's okay for you to do this to me? Have... Have you forgotten?

I roll over. The dirt doesn't taste so good anymore. If it ever did. I face the way he is. Away from him. Just looking on at the broken yolk of a sun between pines, streaming down, painting the skies. It's beautiful. How could it not be? Nature will always be ten times more beautiful for ugly people.

I swallow a deep breath. "Do you ever think of me?"

"What do you mean?" He asks like he doesn't know a thing of what I'm talking about. "I remember a lot of stuff... Some of that stuff I remember, you're in it. So sure."

"That's not what I mean, Murdoc."

"Well, than what _do _you mean, you confusing little chicken?" The fact that he asks that... Almost makes me regret wanting to answer, and all. But I do it.

"I mean... Do you ever just kind of..." My words die on that. They fall out prematurely. So I try again. "Do you ever kind of sit there and wonder how I'm doing? Or think of me when you're doing things to yourself? Or wonder what we'd be talking about if I was still there, when you're falling asleep?"

So it's been three seconds. The only response is the wind, and my embaressment. He thinks I'm stupid. He thinks I'm real stupid... No. He's drunk. What does he think? Especially since he's still petting my neck... So he can't be too put off.

"Maybe, I do, little bird." He whispers. And forgive me if I'm wrong... But he whispered it. Didn't slur it, or stumble upon his words. He said it almost sincerely. Like for a moment, he's not drunk anymore. Just truthful.

"Maybe isn't good enough. I want answers that aren't maybe."

"Okay. Than yes."

"Than why-" I'm angry at first. So god damned angry. It's these mood swings. They're quite litteraly kicking my arse, you know. "Than why did you dump me?"

And so dreamily... After the safest pause I've ever resided in, he answers with a gleam in his eye that I can't see. "Birds and butterflies die in cages."

It hits. Like my dreams have been masturbating for weeks upon months, my mind finally finishes.

_Little bird._

_Little chicken._

_Bye bye, butterfly._

_Birds and butterflies die in cages._

I am the bird. And I am the butterfly. He's still afraid of hurting me.

With a free arm, I pull him down to the tracks where I lay. He doesn't resist. And I face him. And I look at him like you look at a beautiful landscape. He looks at me in the same way. This is clue one that the breakup should have never happened.

"So, so that m-means you miss me, right?"

"Don't ask for answers to questions you already know the answers to."

"Murdoc, quit it." I whine. He chuckles. I stand strong. Er, lay strong. "You never answer me right. Do you miss me?"

"I dunno'.."

"Murdoc!"

"Okay, okay!" The stubborn goat gives in. "No. No, I don't miss you."

Oh... Disappointment. I swallow that pill with a tooth to my lip. Disappointment. Disappointment, indeed so. "You don't?"

"Not in the least." His chest gurgles out a small, happy hiccup. Not a grain, or a speck of regret in his sour breath. "Who would miss the way you snore like a drunken goat and deny it in the morning? Who would miss your grumpy Tuesday afternoons? Who would miss the way you cry like a girl at every less-than-preferable situation?"

Speaking of less than preferable situations. And crying at them... And there's enough alcohol drowning my brain to flood from my eyes in small, drunken, emotional droplets. Especially after that.

"You're... You're n-no peach either!"

Yet he continues with a snicker, and the roll of his eyes. "And who would miss your cooking skills? And the way you make the bed the opposite way? Your left-handed antics? The way that at thirty-three years old, your voice still cracks and squeaks like an old floorboard?"

"M-Murdoc!"

"Your womanly moans? Your quiet mind? Your bad puns? Your irrational fear of gigantic aquatic-"

"_Enough!_" I flip in two ways. The first, I flip myself over. Away from his face, to give him the back of my head. The other flip is a flip of the mind and the heart. I know I'm drunk. And I know things hurt. But this is getting to me.

This has _got_ to me. He's a rash. A rash to spread under my skin, and infect my insides with his terrible words and terrible passion. And even with my distorted mood, even so, I cannot take this.

But his hands are in my hair still... And his heart is in my mind still. And I still find him twirling little strands of my hair. Petting. Combing. Saying loving words with his slow breath. And even when I'm mad, I still find my ears studying still. Still listening.

"And..." His breath breaks. Melts into soft, raspy words. "Who would miss waking up to someone who gives a shit? Who would miss the way your laugh eats my head? Who would miss watching bad horror flicks with you? Who would miss the way your breathing... Slows down when you sleep... And sometimes picks up. Just so quietly... But slows down again... Maybe worrying me a little bit... But being okay in the end... Who in their right mind, would miss... Would miss the way you forgive things... Even when it gets hard..."

I think for a minute that passes quietly. he's fallen asleep. But I'm still listening. I'm always listening.

"I mean... Who would miss... Who would miss missing you?"

I'm okay... I'm suddenly okay, and the answer is un-needed. But I can't move. I can't look back at him. I can't explain why. But it hurts to see.

"Stuart... Are you okay now?"

No response. But my breathing. My breathing that slows down. Sometimes picks up. But slows down again so quietly.

"Tussface..." He implores. "Tuss... Look at me. Turn around now... Why won't you look at me?"

"Because." Bite my lip. Breathe. Lay strong. "Because I'll cry if I look at you."

"Why would you do that?"

"Because I don't know!" Biting harder. Breathing harder. Staying... Harder. "Because I'm drunk, and tired, and sad, and if I see you, it's only going to make it worse because you- y- you're so fucking beautiful and idiotic and I miss everything about you, and I know this is just a good dream... I'm going to wake up, and you're going to be a million miles away..."

"A million miles?" He asks with the alcohol shining through his voice like a foggy spoon. "Or according to your earlier _'hic'_ pronunciation... A million smiles?"

His charm, and the melting sun are baking my brain. Baking it enough so that I keep listening. But I was always listening... Wasn't I?

"Turn around and look at me..." Says he. "Close your eyes, if you need to... But look at me."

"Why?" I ask... But it's funny, because I do it anyways. I carefully flip myself over, eyes shut tight on the sun and the trees and the tracks and the man in front of me. But I can feel him watching. I can feel his eyes on my mine. Closed, or not. He's watching. And I'm listening.

"Cause If I'm going to regret leaving you, than I wanna' look at your face while I'm doing it..."

"Oh."

"Oh?" He questions my motives for oh.

"Shut up." I slur. I can litteraly feel the booze pushing my words around. "You're sassy, and mean, and rude, and ugh!... And this is all your fault. Neither of us would be moping about like it's the end of the world if you would have just... not dumped me, or something!"

"It was for your own good!" He protests. "I did it because I... Because I love you, I dunno'..."

"If you loved me, you would have like... Like... Married me, or something, I dunno'!"

His face freezes with my words. And so do I. Is it shock, or awe, or anger, or excitment? Who really fucking knows. But whatever that emotion is, it's there. And like I said. It's frozen.

"You uh.. Heh... What?"

"Nothing. I was kidding. Only a joke."

"It's not a joke, cause' you're not laughing..." He proves his own little point. "Did you just tell me I should have... Married you?"

"_'hic'_...No."

"Oh." He says briefly. Almost in offence. "So you don't want to marry me?"

"No! I mean, yes... I mean... What? Did you just ask me to marry you?"

"Well, no..." He adds yet another bead to this strand of confusion.

"Oh, so what? You don't want to marry ME?"

"Now, I never said that neither." He starts up on an explanation, and I assume that behind my closed eyes, he's doing a lot of hand movements in that explanation.

"What I'm stating here, is that I didn't just ask you to marry you. I'm not saying I'm opposed to the idea... I mean, it wouldn't be completely bad. Think of it this way. Better housing. We could split the utilities. I get your shit when you die, and rightfully the other way around..."

"Is that all you want from me?" I chuckle through a sheet of thin anger. "My stuff, and split utilities? You'd be an awful husband!"

"Husband is a bad word in the first place." He shrugs as best as he can in this sort of position. "If we did ever, on the sliver of a half of a chance get married, than the word husband wouldn't under any circumstances be used. It'd be more for the fact that... The fact that things would be easier."

"What would be easier?"

"Uhmm. I dunno'." He begins to drift for reasons. Catching them in his net of a mind. "For one, utilities would be cheaper, yeah... And I dunno'... It sounds a bit shiny, don't it? Even when I ain't one for shiny things..."

My questions come in the many. I toss him another to catch. And very dreamily. "What kind of shiny things?"

"I dunno'. _'hic'. _Heheh." He rubs his nose with a shaking hand. Shaking. He's actually embarrassed, or nervous or something.. Like.. Wow. "It's just when you think about it... We'd be interesting, like that. Maybe buy a house or something. Open up an online soul dealership... We'd have a fireplace. And our own sacrificial chamber... Sort of just... Be the only cool married people out there..."

Half of that was beautiful, while the other quite frankly scared me. Just like him, I guess. But I stop. And I take these jagged pieces and I put them together... Wondering what the fuck this is all supposed to mean.

"Wait... So you're saying you want to get married some day?"

"I dunno', stop making me s-sound so... fruity, an' all... I'm still not gay. You're the g-"

"Murdoc, shut up!" If we were sober, and back five or whatever years from now, I'd be getting a beating for that. But we're not sober. And now is now. So he just rolls his eyes, and listens like a good boy. "Are you saying you want to get married some day?"

"Maybe."

"Stop with the maybe! No more _maybe this, maybe that_. I want real answers... Please..."

And as the invisible smoke of my small outburst wares off, the smallest answer emerges.

"Okay."

"Okay to what?"

"Okay to... To...MAYBE someday... Maybe." He sighs. "When there's nothing else to do... And not that this matters, anyways... We could join ourselves in a VERY small, not gay, strictly business related form of matrimony."

I think for a moment, before remembering that I don't understand a word he's just said. "No!"

"What? But you just said that-"

"You didn't even ask me! Not like I'd even say yes in the first place, but you didn't even ask me."

He groans out a chunky sigh, before rolling his sunken eyes. "What, do you want me to ask you? I'm not about to change my code and go completely gay-erotica romance novel on-"

"Murdoc..."

"Stuart..."

"If I was to say yes to anything of the sort, I would want you to 'hic' ask me first..." I giggle, without the will to stifle back my girly outburst.

'Right now?"

"Or eventually."

"Alright, whatever..." He mumbles, before unpursing those lips to sigh with closed eyes. He opens them so professionally, and rolls out his words like some sort of refined speech. "You wanna' marry-"

"Eh." I stop him like a game show buzzer stops a fat contestant. "You're doing it wrong. You've got say it correctly."

"Fine!" He pauses after his snap, and in that pause I take minute to notice that the sun has almost dipped its last drop into the clouds. It's getting late. Running out of time here. But he speaks. Very subtly, he begins again. "Will you marry-"

"Wrong again!" I buzz him out. "You have to say my name with it. You're being hardly romantic at all here, you know."

"FINE!" He snaps for the last time. But with this snap, comes his hand holding mine. Yes. His hand. Holding MINE. Just by the tips of my fingers, he holds it. Brushing it with the others. And he coughs again. Readies himself. Is this really happening? What the fuck is going on now? Where's my drink? Why am I about to cry?

"Stuart, Harold, FUCKING Pot..." He leans in, and his rusty words are silk in my ears. I can smell the drunk on his breath. I have to say I love it. "One fateful, 99 percent chance not going to happen day... Will you join me in a life selling souls online, and strictly business and for the better good induced marriage? So uh... Eventually marry me?"

We don't even need to. It's not something I'm really wishing for. I need him. And that's really it. I don't need a house, and a ring, and an online soul selling business. I don't need a certificate to tell me that I'm happy.

But you know what? I'm not going to ruin this. I ruin a lot of things. So I'll sweeten this up with my artificial sugar.

"Maybe eventually." I smile. And that's a yes. And his smile is a yes. And we could stay here forever, and live on these tracks until the train comes, and die with the engine smoke that it will leave behind. But eventually we'll go, and, and eventually we'll maybe eventually get married.

But it's not needed. And we'll leave soon enough... But I wait. Because maybe he'll say something else. I'm always waiting for him to say something else... He doesn't. He's a quiet guy. I like that about him.

But you know what? He could. So I'm still listening.

**AN: Thanks for the wait! I know I'm always uber late. Bah. School is a pain. But thanks for being patient.**

**Welp, what'd ya think? Go ahead and tell me!**

**Thanks for reading!**


	68. 68: The Wasted Fifteen

**Chapter 68: The Wasted Fifteen**

**AN: My flashdrive got lost, so I had to REWRITE THISSS. That's why the update took forever, haha. And it also sucks, because this probably won't be as good as the one I had before, but that one got lost, so blagh.. Thanks for waiting!**

I dreamt of breathing, and it was beautiful.

On the back of my neck. _Breathing_, on the back of _my_ neck. It was soft, and slow, and sweet, and timed to the wind. It was warm. And safe...And somehow, I knew that it was for me...

And waking up to the truth is so quickly just the worst thing. And the truth is, that was a dream. A lie. The warmth was a lie. The safety was a lie. I don't know where I am, or what's going on, but I know that I am alone.

I don't need to open my eyes to know this: Murdoc is good at magic tricks. And poof. He's gone.

But..But do you know how much worse it gets when I _do_ open my eyes? I open them, and I'm a dead fly on the drawing board. Square one. Left to open my tired eyes to another strange place, that was beautiful and light and fluffy however many hours ago.

Now it's dark... And now it's quite cold... And now it's quite lonely.

The first three seconds of waking bliss is interrupted by panic. No. There was never any waking bliss. You know why? Because I woke up, and it was dark, and it was cold, and it was lonely. How much bliss could there possibly be in that? And for this tiny second, i've no idea where I even am. Do I even remember anything? What the fuck is going on? Where am I? No, Murdoc... Murdoc, where are you? Why would you leave me?

I scramble to my feet, and meet my new friends. The trees. Tall, dark, and handsomely rugged, they're closing in at every angle. They're all I can see. The rest is untouched dark...But may I be frank? These trees aren't friends... I don't think anything here is a friend...So may I be frank again?... I'm scared.

"M-Murdoc?" My voice escapes in a whisper. Just a whisper. Because what if I'm not alone afterall? What if there are bloodsucking mutant squirrels lurking at my wake? You never know! It's dark. It's quiet. And you know how when it's dark, and you're vulnerable, and frightened... You sometimes see things? Little outlines, and wrinkles in blankets of dark?

"M-...Murdoc.." I beg softly, and with my head praying for safety, I quietly hunch up to reveal nothing but this same curtain of night. "Man, this ain't humerous or nothing... C'mon... C'mon, you arsehole! Show yourself! "

But memories don't reply, do they? Missing things? Not them either. Murdoc left. He played with his toys, and dropped them into the dark, before wandering off to pursue his own little adventures. Just me. Just Mr. darkness, and the absence of the moon and stars. They're hiding in the trees... Hiding from that noise.

That... That one. Just now. Not a second before I saw the moon in the trees, and not a second after. It was a twig snapping, I think. Or an animal. Please, please be a fucking animal... Animals don't stomp twigs like that.

Animals don't walk like that. They don't stomp. They don't wear boots. These... These stomps. Are boot stomps... And you know what else animals don't do?

They don't stand like that. They don't stand the same height of there victims. Not behind them. Not like this one. Not behind me. Not like that. There is no reaction. There is no time. Only silence... And then?

Fight the fuck back.

Turn. Kick. It's a two step plan that plays out only two seconds after it's planning. Turn. Swing my foot for the crotch. Turn and scream and run the fuck away... Except... Except I don't do that last part. Because when I hear my foot smack into his meat, and hear that reaction... The one of his voice... I realize maybe Murdoc didn't leave after all. Whoopsie.

Within two seconds, his body is a stuffingless ragdoll, deflating into the ground, emitting a long drawn out groan. Death grip on his junk. Dinner plates for eyes. Sex doll mouth. I think I've just killed Murdoc Niccals. Or just his balls.

"_Sweet fiery lord._.." His voice is almost that of a deflating balloon. Out of breath, and out of strength. _"I can't feel my babies_."

"Jesus, Murdoc!" I scold him, though kneeling to his level to somehow console him. "Why the _fuck_ do you have to sneak up on me like this, _every god damned time _you abandon me in scary chunk of nature? F-fuck! I thought you was... I thought you was a..."

"You thought I was _what_?!"He wheezes his words. "What? If you say you thought I was a fucking walkawhale.."

"Don't even." I warn him. Partly in annoyance. Mostly in fear. Things like that show up when you say their names enough, y'know. "I- I don't know... I thought you was a squirrel, or something."

"Why would you kick a squirell in the balls, you blithering cuntweed!? SQUIRELLS DON'T CARRY WEAPONRY."

One hand on his shoulder, one hand on my head, I sweat as I watch his curled body hunch closer into itself in pain. "I- I dunno, that's not what I meant! You can't just sneak up on me like that, after y'know... leaving me in the middle of the fucking forest!"

"If I had use of my arms, I _swear_ to you I would shove those balls high up into-... Are you laughing?"

Well, what do you know? Stomach bouncing slightly. A tickle in my chest. I suppose I am laughing. Also, even under this ocean of fear and anger... There is _so _much relief, because he's here. So if he's here... There's a safe bet that I'm not going to die.

"So what if I am?" I half tease, the other half in purely dark coloured anger. "You dropped me in the forest and scooted away like you always do!"

"I didn't scoot nowhere..." He grumbles, still in a thick trance of his own pain.

"Than how do you explain the fact, that I woke up alone in a... in a scary abandoned part of the wilderness?" I struggle with this argument. "Why did you run off?!"

"First of all, nature is never abandoned..." Carefully, he attempts to prop himself up to a sit, enduring the pain in his murdoc berries as he does so. "As you just said, there are squirells. And other shit. Also, I didn't RUN OFF. I went off to piss, and came back not thirty seconds later to a swift kick in the knads, thank you very much."

"...Oh." I think that was me, grudgingly admitting I was wrong. Kicking people in the balls right off the bat might not be the best way of greeting them. The apology will be harder.

"...If I say I'm sorry, will your acceptance of my apology have any strings attached? Such as _you_ kicking _me_ in the balls?"

"Gee, I dunno' bonehead." His voice sizzles with his own spicy attitude, as I attempt to help him sit up. "Maybe I should get a gang of marine animals to sing your least favourite song first, followed by getting one of them to punch you in the nose. We'll top it off with that kick to the balls."

The mere mention of marine animals is a sting that I swallow deeply, with a shutter to my spine and a change in the subject.

"Murdoc..." Against my own wishes, I peer around as I speak to him. If I'm correct, I can literally feel the fear in my eyes. "It's kind of... Kind of odd here...And how in the hell have we gotten here anyways?"

"Still at the tracks, I suppose." He answers, his voice still raspy with pain.

"Tracks?" I cock my head. "Like traintracks? When were we at traintracks?"

"What?" He makes like he didn't hear me. Can't tell why, though... "Oh, uh... I spose you're right. It's a little off here. You ain't scared, are you?"

I was about to prove him wrong in someway, while telling him that I wasn't scared at all. I promise you I was... And then something squacked, or howled, or yelped or whichever. I can't make it out... But it sent a jolt to my brain, just as well as it sent me jolting back into his lap. Very perfectly. My arse to his lap. My nails clenching his thigh. Fear can unite people quite well, I've learned.

He squeaks mildly. I wonder why...Oh yeah. I forgot. Kicked his balls a minute ago. Heheh. Before catching his probably painful look, I brush myself off with an _eherm._

"No." I cough. "It's just... Freaky here. Rubs me the wrong way. We should get going."

"So soon?" He deadpans, strings and wires of pain still poking through his voice. "No, I thought we'd stay a little longer and take in the sights. And would you mind not death gripping my thigh?"

And huh. I haven't even realized that, that I'm still gripping his thigh like that. It's a comfort thing, maybe. But it's apparently not comfortable for him. My cheeks heat a probably rosy pink, and I release his leg.

"Yeah... Let's just... Get out of here."

I'd like to forget that this place freaks me out. But as soon as we're only halfway away from it, it becomes important for him to remind me. The path is thin, and heavily hugged by trees and bushes. Can't see shit. I'm trailing close behind him, when he speaks. His back, my great wall of "_godly protection"._

"Scared of a wee little forest..." He chews on that small weakness, with a shame shaking head. "Don't know what for. Forest is everywhere, so you might as well be shitting your pants twentyfour-seven. Not to mention that the things in the forest, are still there every day. Even in the day."

"Will you cut it out?" I put a stop to his rambling, only for him to turn around and give me a real good stink eye. He's good at those. But the pissy look switches quickly to some kind of feindish delight.

His mouth, curling up like a shriveling insect. This should be good. For him, at least.

"What? You afraid of the wolvies and ghosties _prowling _about in the woods?" He doesn't miss the chance to animate every action with his hands. Complete with twiddling fingers and a hunched back.

"This isn't a bad horror movie sequel." I scoff, and it only bounces off him. "You're so cliché. If anything, you're going to be the one to trigger the murderer, or burglar or whatever."

"Oh, but it's not the human type dangers you should be worrying about..." He snickers. I'm listening. I don't know why, but I'm still listening. "It's the...other things. Tortured souls of lost children. Hungry spirits of serial killer victims, out for revenge...El chupacabra, the loch ness monster..."

"How the fuck can the loch ness monster be in the woods if he lives in lochness, Murdoc?"

"Good question." He takes that into consideration, and of course ignores it. "I suppose you still don't believe in walkawhales either..."

"Murdoc. Don't. Keep walking."

Stopped in the middle of the trail, he's apparently decided that prodding at my patience is more important than getting somewhere safe and y'know, not foresty. When he doesn't move, I try and weave around him. That don't work too well. He was a wall of protection earlier, and now he's just a wall.

"Murdoc." I repeat his name, putting that little hat of emphasis on my breaking patience. "C'mon. Move yourself. I wanna' leave!"

"Aw, what?" He coos. Leans in. Makes sure that I'm the intimidated one here, which I always will be. "The mere mention of a walkawhale, and you're done?"

"We were leaving anyway. Shut up about your stupid bloody fake creatures, alright?"

"Mm, I never said they wasn't real." With that, and the head turn of some brand of prince, he sweeps himself away and walks on. "I mean, when you think about it... Whales _did_ evolve from wolves. Those things used to walk on land... So doesn't that make wolves just as creepy as whales?"

"Can you please not do this?"

"And areas like this aren't exactly short of wolves..." He drags this on, stretching and stretching this little topic. Well eventually, it's going to stretch too far, and snap right into my face. And it's going to hurt both of us.

Will just shut your mouth? Please?" Those words I just pushed, sounded a lot quieter and less threatening in my head. In reality, or in Murdoc's reality anyway, it probably sounded like I was telling him to shut up.

But wasn't I? No. Surely there's a difference between _asking_ someone to shut their mouth, and telling them to shut up. But uh… Judging by the way he's looking at me now… He didn't see the difference. Now thinking about it, neither do I.

And it's funny, too. Almost self sweetening, when I start to feel bad for telling him that. Even when he's looking at me like he wants to cram my penis into a pencil sharpener, and sell the shavings on the internet.

I give him a comforting laugh, but it only rubs off as awkward and desperate. My whole existence kind of comes off as awkward and desperate, actually. He leans closer, hinting anger. I push him back, hinting that he should y'know… not kick my arse?

"H-Hey… No worries, alright? I just uh…"

And I don't finish that sentence because for one, I don't know what I _just uh_, and for two, I don't think he'd actually hit me anyway. Times change with every new day. So maybe when his fist didn't meet my face, or any part of me for that matter… Maybe he's a step closer.

And don't you love those moments where you know there's going to _be _a moment? When if you're smart enough, and experienced enough too, you can feel the heat of a kiss calling for you. Or even something as small as a smile. But the moments come, one by one and scattered into different parts of your life. And you'll never know when they are.

And sometimes they work.

And sometimes they get interrupted by the sound of an injured space alien making a battle cry. Or at least that's what that noise just sounded like. He looks directly behind me, with eyes that would probably be wide and freaked out if I could really see them. And this moment doesn't happen, like a lot of them don't. But I don't really mind all too much, because whatever made that noise... I'm not sticking around to see what made it, or what it wants.

I push past Murdoc, who lingers in stupid curiosity, and I do what I do best: run away from scary things.

After he catches up, I'm kind of the self proclaimed leader of this escape. Only because he's behind me. Only because I just want to get the hell out of here, and he just wants to swing about and freak me out.

And somewhere wedged in between our constant bickering, and his attempts to scare or prank poor ol' me, I decide that wherever we are, is my third or fourth least favorite place in the world. But somewhere else in between there, there's a bead of hope.

Quite exactly, just the size of a bead from here. But it's a crack of light, and when I see it through this mess of trees and dirt and everything suckish, my eyes open wide with hope and all too soon relief. I stop right in front of him, which probably wasn't the best idea, because he's terribly exhausted, and just hits and bounces right off me.

"You see that?" I badger him with my excitement.

"What, the tree, the other tree, or the _other_ ninety eight hundred trees?"

"No, past those! There's light over there, look!" I tell him. And he says he sees it, but I know he's lying. I nudge him hard for that. He didn't look at all. If there was to be a book on Murdoc, I would be the one to write it. I know his tricks, and his ways, and his chapters all too well.

But I kind of feel bad. The poor guys' pretty tuckered out. I don't think Murdoc was designed for heavy activity. Especially at this hour. So... This part is kind of hard to do, because it's a taste of what I want, but it's only a taste. Through the night, and through the thick layers of nothing but black and brush...

I find a hand that used to be mine. And keeping in mind that it doesn't want to be mine anymore, I carefully take it. And it's so cold... And somehow I know mine is cold too. I grip it in a comfortable way, and give him a couple of squeezes, which I'm hoping wasn't a mistake.

"C'mon."

"I don't need your guidance, I'm not eight years old." He snarks, and I knew he would. But the thing is, he's only pulling back slightly. Not enough to indicate that he minds this.

"I know you don't." With that, his pride falls asleep while mine stays wide awake, and bloating with some brand of joy. The minutes begin, and I drag him out of there. Without a clock, I know it's been a good ten minutes when the light is finally big enough to let us out of a small opening in the trees.

The light, is the life of a small gas station. A small group of people gathered by one of the pumps. One of them stations that stays open twenty four seven, for hookers, and run aways, and youngens, and blokes like us. Somewhere in that organic maze, his hand became warm, and letting go of it is like spitting out a half smoked cigarette.

"Hey!" I knudge him again, because he's still like half asleep here. "You recognize that place?"

"Mmm, not in the least." He answers, and I check his eyes to make sure he's actually looking at it, not just blowing steam. "Why, you recognize it?"

"No. So... You uh, you have any idea where we are, or is this just point and shoot?"

"Shit, if I was comfortable enough with where we were, I would have conked out onto the ground and fell asleep an hour ago." He grumbles, but hints that some of his energy is coming back. "In other words, no. I haven't any idea."

"Welp'. No use in standing around wondering. Might as well go into the station and use a phone, or whatever. At least ask where we are."

He doesn't argue with it, so it leaves my vote to be the only talliable one. So with that, I decide we're heading down there. And as we do, the whole place comes into more of a focus. Such as the station. It's dirtier than it looked up there. And such as the group of people that were gathered by the pumps. The more I focus in on them, as Murdoc trails tiredly behind... The more farmiliar they look.

And the less they look like every day people... And the more they look... How can I put this... Homeless? And their faces, as I focus in and slow down my feet... They look a little angrier. And I stand there for a moment, and listen to them... Just for safety.

After a moment, I confirm that they're pissed. And I don't know if it's just me, but I've got this idea that maybe the reason as to why they're pissed, is because I promised them cheap booze, and maybe food. Hell, I'd be pissed to if I hadn't a home to call my own, and some blue headed bastard walked up and made me sing terrible music for some crappy gin, which he forgot to give me.

"Murdoc?" I crash my own train of thought as I stare into the angry pool of smelly men.

"Hm?"

"...Those are the homeless guys from earlier, aren't they?"

"...Yeah." He blurts. "Looks like it."

"And... They see us, don't they..."

"Yeah..." He blurts again, not quite so dreamily this time. "Looks like it."

And that's the truth. They _do_ see us now, and we _should_ run. The only problem is, I haven't actually got a clue how to move my feet. And not as in I'm an awkward kid who can't dance, but as in it is literally impossible to move.

"2D..." Murdoc implores, piecing together the situation, along with some energy. "We should probably run now."

"Yeah." I nod. "Running would be good."

He gives me a nod of the chin, and I return it with the same overly calm nod back. We wait three seconds, for good measure. And I'm the one who makes the spring of the feet, and gets this train moving again. He doesn't hesitate in following.

The only problem here? From where I am, it looks like we're actually running _towards _the station. Y'know. Where theres a cespool of about fifteen or so crazed homeless men who are most likely prepared to serve my eyeballs on the top of a garbage can as a platter. And they piece things together awfully quickly.

And as for this one, I'd be an idiot if I doubted it at first: They know how to run. And they do it. Quickly. Scrambling together like a fleet of confused, but angry ants. And we're headed to collide. If it weren't for my apparently quick thinking, we would have been a couple slices of bread headed right into a toaster. And they would have toasted us.

But instead of hitting them, we hit the side of the gas station mini mart, almost actually smacking into the side of the wall. Luckily not, and luckily so, theres a door back here. Oh, praise this door of all doors, it's unlocked! I cram Murdoc in there, before cramming myself in as well and slamming the door to cap this situation.

Door locks. This rusty piece of shit lock actually works. This is a bathroom, I guess. We remain untoasted, and as a piece of still floppy white bread, I slide to the ground and let out a slew of choppy pants and breaths.

"Well." Murdoc is the first to lay damp the towel on this situation. "You want to explain to me why your little hobo club is out for our blood?"

"No, not really."

"Well tough, you're doing it anyway." He snaps his jaw, but it's a tired snap. Five minutes in, and he's already done with this. So tired looking. Grey bags under his eyes, matching the colour of these cracked tiles. And confusion sinking deep into his eyes. Mine too, I bet.

"Alright..." I sigh in preparation for this little explanation. "The hobos are mad because I forgot to give them their booze. So they saw us. And so, they're probably ready to knife it out of me."

"Then give them their booze!"

"I don't have any!"

"Than buy some!"

"I don't have any! Er- money, that is. We spent it on milk and cigarettes and southern comfort, remember?" When I tell him this, it seems to ice his coals a little, but not by much. Just enough to reward him a sigh. And with that sigh, he begins to rub his temples and pace across the dirty floor.

"Alright..." He seems to be calming himself down, somehow. "Alright... So- so you pissed off a gang of homeless men... And they're waiting outside the door to slit you open and drink your blood as compensation for the booze you forgot to buy them."

"Murdoc!" I hiss. "You're not making this any better, you're just being gross!"

"Nope." He puts on this final tone. The kind you hear at the end of a conversation. "I'm quite finished here. I'm not saying it."

"Saying what?"

"Don't act like you don't know!" He's boiling his own anger here. I don't even know what I've done wrong this time. "That fucking ernk word! I'm not saying it, so you might as well get your arse back on track, and... and think about what you've done!"

The real thing is, I have been thinking, but it's not about that. I'm thinking about what I've done, sure. But in a different way than what he wants. The minutes pass, and I watch him pace. And I keep thinking, as I'm sure he does too. And in such different ways...

And I'm neck deep and wading in random thoughts when a certain thought washes over me like a rogue wave. Do I really_ not _want to be here? I wait until he's turned around to smile at him, just because I'm glad he's here. Is this not what I wanted? Even if it's like this, just being by him is enough. A week ago, I would have killed for this. So even now, I'm happy.

And I missed those stressed sighs that hide in his breath.

And I missed the way he paces like that.

And I missed him.

"Would you stop looking at me like that?" He nags, and I don't mind... _I don't mind, I don't mind, I don't mind..._ But oh. I should probably stop now. Seeing as he's sitting now, and looking at me like he usually looks at things when they bother him.

"Sorry..." I shake my head, and shake away these thoughts with them. But the thoughts don't actually shake off. "So I reckon you're pretty awake now, huh?"

"Well, one of us bloody well has to be..."

"You wasn't earlier." I remind him. "Practically had to drag you out of the woods, if you don't recall... And how did we even get there, anyways? I don't remember asking to go for a jaunt in the forest..."

"I don't know! I don't fucking know, okay?!" He says. No, scratch that... That wasn't just a _says._ That was a shout. And I don't know if I wasn't listening correctly before, but now I hear it. I think it came with a crack in his voice... But I hear this anxiety, this angst. And I look at him, and it matches his eyes so well...

All too soon, he comes off as a scared child. Pouting in the corner. Biting his nails. But there's worry. I'm not used to seeing him worry.

"Listen, doc... I, uh... " I wait for him to stop me, I think. But for one reason or another, he doesn't. "We'll find our way out of this, y'know..."

"Oh yeah, and what if we don't? Huh?" He looks me real hard in the eye. "You know what, there isn't always a bright side to things es-especially when we didn't even need to be here in the first place! You just had to go... Had to go fuck around and screw everything up!"

"C'mon... Gimme' a break here..."

"YOU DON'T DESERVE A BREAK!" He shuts me up. All in a few seconds, the wheels stop turning. Everything stops turning as the mood goes grey. He's mad at me. I mean if he wasn't already before, he is now... And I can't help but wonder when it happened.

"Everytime I push you away, you COME BACK!" He gives the words. And it hurts... But with a quivering lip, I receive them. "Why can't you... Why won't you just leave me alone?"

Because fifteen years.

Because... Because I like you?

And in the words of an old jailmate, and janitor, and pirate, and friend... _Because Gorillaz mate for life?_

"Because..." I stretch out my word, and bite my lip with them, taking a small moment to decide if I really want to say this or not. "Because gorillaz... gorillaz mate for life, I think..."

When I say he looks absolutely stunned, don't get me wrong. This is the bad kind of stunned. He actually looks like I just threw a romance novel at his face.

"_That..."_ He begins, thumb to finger. "Is the single stupidest thing I've heard in my own life."

I shake my head, and almost smile. But not. "It's stupid, but it's true... You told me you left for my own good, right? Than would you care to explain why _every day_ since then has been complete hell without you?"

"It was already hell when you _were_ with me."

I shake my head again because he's such an idiot. Through beaches, and ghosts, and studios, and rivers, and tears, and guns, and every single fighting day, he hasn't realized it yet? I loved every day of it.

"Some kinds of hell burn." Says I, the _not _satanist. "Some are just incredibly warm."

And you know what, I will tell you I am _sick _and _tired _of my words being interrupted by loud noises. This one, the worst of them all. This one probably the only real danger, aswell.

So _ping-pang-pow_, before I have a second to realize what's going on, the door goes down. Yes, a crashing door interupts yet another one of my moments. And I'm kind of just sitting there gaping when it happens. But should I really be? Should I really be surprised that this is happening?

The flock of them are gathered there by the remains of the door. Scraggly beards, and eye patches and all. No, not pirates. Just a group of uncomfortably insane homeless men.

"Hey..." This one who's speaking, seems to be the leader. And if it's possible, even his patchy red beard looks unhappy. Like there's another angry face behind it. "Don't you owe us booze for SINGING IN PUBLIC?"

I actually almost laugh at the emphasis on _singing in public._ But it's pretty hard to laugh when you're three seconds away from shitting yourself, and cowering on a public bathroom floor.

I think quick. But not really. "Uh... No?"

Anyone care to make a toast? A toast to the end of my life. A toast to being toast. I clench my teeth as this guy opens his mouth again. I don't even dare look for Murdocs reaction. But the mans mouth opens... And... And he looks like he's trying to remember something?

"Oh. Are you sure?"

I swear to god, if this is this easy, I'm going to sell myself online and donate the money to charity.

"Uhmm... Yes?"

"Oh." He mumbles, behind his thick beard. "Sorry. Go back, fellahs! This is the wrong guy."

The little mound of heads behind him groans, as the number of them begin to waddle off in search of another man named 2D. Like an old car, they grumble together as they depart. And by the time their sound is just a distant echoing memory, my chin is still dropped to the floor in shock.

"Was it really that easy?" My murmuring breaks off into slightly hysteric laughter. "Did I just win? Holy shit, I never thought I'd be so grateful for the lack of education in the world!"

When I finally overcome my shock and pride is all that stays, I catch Murdoc. Head to the wall. Eyes to the ceiling. Arse to the floor, hands to his knees, and mind to somewhere else, he looks completely and utterly annoyed.

"You haven't any idea how done I am right now."

"You think you're done?" I shake my head for the last time. And you know what? It's in relief this time. Sweet, sweet relief. Love's companion, sweet relief. "I've got to sell myself on the internet now."

_/

An hour later, it's an hour later. That's all I can really say, because nothing groundbreaking or new, or beautiful happened in this hour.

We laughed a little bit about that homeless guy.

We talked a little bit.

And we drifted a little bit too.

The only thing we weren't doing a little bit of in this hour, was walking. Correction: We've done a hell of a lot of walking, and if an arse load is an actual unit of measurement, I'd be happy to say we've done an arse load of walking. It rained a little, and so it made the sidewalks smell damp and dewy, so that smell floated into the air and it's everywhere now. Nowhere is lit, but these guarding streetlights and a few freckles in the sky.

We've been lost, but we've found our way. I wish I could say that meant more than what it sounds like, but in truth, that just means that we eventually found our way back to his part of town. _His_ part of town, he calls it. Not our part of town, because he lives there alone. I'm not there. I'm not included in him anymore.

"You sure you're even going to be... Y'know... Welcome back at the apartments, because of that whole break-in thing?" Number one, of my excuses.

"You broke in, not me." True true, very truthfully he says. "So I don't see why I wouldn't be welcome back in me own home, if I wasn't the one who broke the teapot."

"Who broke a tea pot?"

"Turn of phrase, 2D."

"Oh."

And there it is, just as he said it would be. Yonder apartment. _His _apartment. The one that I'm probably not welcome in. And being here means goodbye. Being here, I can feel him shooing me away with independent fingers.

"Right." He says. "That was quite the journey."

"Yup." And we stand. Neither one of us the braver, to break this off. I just kind of turn my head over, hands in my pockets... And I try to smile at him. But nothing comes.

"I should probably go up now." He nods.

"You probably should." I nod too.

And he tries to walk away... But nothing comes. So he turns back as if he's forgotten something.

"Listen, it's late." He observes the fact that yes, it is quite late. "Maybe you uh... Come up for a minute, and I'll call you a cab or whatnot."

He still sounds hesitant. And that kind of hurts. That he doesn't even want me in his own apartment, mucking things up I suppose. But I ain't really a mucker anyways. And even so, I've got no choice, really.

"Yeah. Sure." And a slow moment later, I'm standing in the doorway of an empty home. But it only feels empty because it's not empty, and I can't really explain how that makes sense, but it does.

There's a tiny black and white tiled kitchen, that floods into a tiny living room, a badly matched tiny green gingham sofa sticking out rather oddly. Through a square arched doorway, there's a tiny bed, that I'm just able to see. And it's all tiny. Tiny, tiny, tiny.

The scent is of dry tobacco and musk scented soap. But the third scent, I can't really place. Maybe it's cum. I don't know. That sounds nasty, but it feels true.

He keeps clean. But in secret, dirty. I can almost feel the napkins and beer cans beneath the tacky sofa. He takes no time for a tour, and heads directly for a tiny yellow home phone that looks cute in his big spidery hands. I shut the door and hope I was aloud too, while he makes a generic phone call and in a moment, puts the phone down and lets in the silence.

"It's uh, It's nice." I nod at him, and for some reason I'm immidietly stricken with the thoughts of him and the other women he'll have over here.I can see his tongue down every throat of every loose woman to enter his door. The thought powders away. These are not good thoughts to have.

"Cab should be here in ten, or so." He nods back at me. And he still wants me gone... I don't know what I expected to happen in between that phonecall and now, but part of me feels like he should have changed his mind. But that's only my thought.

He gestures me to sit down, quite awkwardly actually. I reckon he's not used to inviting people to sit down, or inviting people to do anything as it is. Without a word or much of a thought, I walk with light feet and almost plunge into that sofa, before I remember that I'm a guest, so I sit down politely.

I'm a _guest. _We're not even strangers anymore. We're acquaintances. And thats so much worse...

The sofa is diceaving. A tacky and boxish creature to the eye, it's actually quite comfortable. Lumpy here and there, but I could picture falling asleep on it. Correction: I could picture falling asleep on it with him. Tangled in his arms. His chin asleep in the crook of my neck. We'd be so perfect, to me. Maybe not to anyone else. But to me.

Right on cue of that thought, he sits just as politely as me, but quite as far away from me as he can. He doesn't even look comfortable in his own place. Almost robotic, or forced. His knee, twitching violently with some alien kind of nervousness.

I want to touch it. I want to squeeze it. I want to tell him I'm sorry, or tell him I forgive him, but the truth is I don't know who's fault this is. Maybe there isn't even a fault here. Just luck of the draw. And still. Still I'm hoping for him to change his mind.

"So you still haven't changed your mind?" That was a thought. But I voiced it. Sometimes I do that, and every time I do i find myself regretting it. I don't this time.

"I don't change my mind." His lips move, but nothing else does. Not his eyes. Not his hands, or his neck, or his chest. Is he even real anymore? Am I even real anymore? When did we become so... so cellophane? So forced, so automatic?

"They say third times the charm." I shrug, refering the the other two failed tries at _us._

"Don't always believe in what _"they"_ say"

"...Do you want to belong here?" I remember. I say.

"What?" He doesn't remember. I didn't expect him to.

"You told me that... A while ago. On plastic beach." My words come out like bits of ripped fabric, that I'm sewing back together as they hit me. "And now I'm sort of asking you, Murdoc... I mean..."

What? What do I mean?

"I mean look _around_ you..." And as I tell him that, I do it to. There's furniture, and trash, and two lonely people, but it's all empty. It's all junk. "Is this where _you_ want to belong? Alone in a cramped little apartment for the rest of your life?"

"How much longer is the rest of my life gonna' be, 2d? Huh? Couple more years until the big one finally hits?"

"Don't say that!"

"And why not?" He scoffs right in my face. Right into me. "Shit, you act like everything could be so... so perfect. And you know what? It could be! But not with me! If you want something perfect, there's a WHOLE pond of little women out there who are ready and willing to accompany you in your _perfect little life._"

"I don't want them! Fuck them!" I'd be screaming. If I wasn't shaking, that is. "And I don't want perfection! You think I'm perfect? No, I'm not fucking perfect... Perfect... Perfect doesn't exist, because we won't LET IT exist."

"I'm not sure I even know what you're talking about."

I get up, because the sofa can't hold everything I'm about to become. I'm going to rocket. I'm going to explode... And most of all, I'm going to stand here and tell him whats what.

"My defenition of perfect isn't a pretty house, and a pretty girl, and pretty children..." His head is turned as I speak. But slowly, I feel he's turning to listen. Slowly. "I... I don't want that. I want... I want a little ugly cabin with a fireplace and our own torture chamber..."

He turns. Because yes, I remembered. I was drunk as hell, but I could never forget our eventually maybe.

"I want the online soul selling buisness. I want our eventually maybe and only for business reasons partnership... I want... I want to belong."

I'm counting the seconds it takes for him to speak back. One, two, three hundred, one million, eleventy two. I can't count right now. Too scared.

"You remembered?" At second number seventy billion, I think... He answers. "When we er... talked last night?"

"Murdoc, I'm pretty sure I remember the first thing you ever said to me." I laugh desperately, because the only times I ever laugh anymore, it's desperatley. "I can't really forget you."

There's plenty of time for speaking, but not nearly enough to think of what to say. So we're just looking at each other, and biting our lips, and twiddling our fingers, and shaking in our pants... No, wait. That's just me.

And with the honk of an impatient cab,, I decide that cabs are my least favourite thing in the entire world right now. And It hurts something fierce when I begin to walk away and he doesn't say anything. Just sits there. Dead before his death.

With every step towards the door, I'm praying again. Stop me. Stop me, you idiot! Take me back! Be my friend! Hate me! Beat me up! Stop me! Kiss me! Love me, like me, love me!

But no. He's just dead. Or something like it. I open the door, and I'm already forgotten.

"Should you need me..." Don't hesitate to find me. I forget that part because the door is closed now. I forget that part because I need to forget anything.

I walk to that cab and begin to remember fifteen years of shit.

And I remember fifteen years of custom perfection.

Fifteen. Wasted.

I open the door, and give directions to my artificial home.

And I close the door, and I don't look back. And I die a little. And I forget a little too.

**AN: This was SUPPOSED to have more on it, but my flashdrive got lost. Just gonna' have to put it on the next chapter. Thanks for waiting, and all!**


	69. 69: And Hell is Warm REVIEWER VOTE!

**Chapter 69: And Hell is Warm**

**REVIWER VOTE AT THE END**

**AN:This is about to be reaaaly long. I think it'll be worth it. Thanks for your patience!**

I'm not supposed to see his face in the moon.

That's not the kind of guy he is. We're not starcrossed teenagers, or two beautiful heterosexual movie-screen dreamboats. There is nothing sparkly about us. Nothing fluffy, or romantic, or cuts. Nothing at all. We're just two sad, confused pieces of gravel that were never meant to end up in a rose garden.

He is not my Romeo. I am not his Juliet.

Even still, I was sure he'd come and save me. And it took an entire two weeks of checking phones, and checking windows, and checking everything, for me to dip my toes in the river and realize it was dry. He was not coming.

Still, I've Just kept looking for him. Waiting for him to come take me from this hell and carry me to a warmer one. It's funny. I didn't know hell could be so cold like this. Not until I learned there was a warmer one.

_Some hells are hot. Some are just warm. Which one was this?_

Today marks the day on the colander, that the wheel stopped turning. The sad music died off to dry silence. The river ran dry. There is nothing to wait for. I'm not going to be rescued here. I'm not a princess, I'm a man. A _real_ guy who doesn't live in a book, or a movie, or a fairytale.

I'm just a guy. I'm just a guy going home to mummy again. And she's excited, mum is. I know this because I'm on the phone with her. Just not interested enough to tune into the hum of her words. I can hear the excitement, but I don't really care what that excitement is saying.

I've learned just to smile, and nod, and keep the slime stapled inside of me. That slime, being everything I really feel. Or everything I think I feel. I can't really tell anymore. What I can tell, and know for sure, is that there's a new job and an old family waiting for me back in Crawley, and somehow I think that sounds better than waiting for a prince who doesn't exist. Ten o'clock tonight. I'm going home. And I'm going to sleep in the bed I've made.

But if we're talking about now, I'll tell you thatI can , smell my regret sizzling in a greasy pan.

The pan of which, being maybe my head. And that head of such talk, is resting on a granola textured headrest, in the passenger side of Paula's volxie, or whatever this piece of auto-tastic trash this is.

Being here, riding along passenger in Paula's machine of crushed hopes and dented dreams, is odd for two reasons mainly, and a lot more I'm sure. Let's take the first. Why am I here? I don't like Paula. I don't hate her, but I don't necessarily have a sweet spot in my heart for her neither. And I don't exactly need to be out on the town with her, either.

The second thing is the fact that we're alone. No drunken cronies in the back seat, be them raunchy, hair chested old men, or grungy bicurious women. Just the open road. Just me, just her. Only a folded up bandanna to separate us.

"I have this particular feeling that you're going to park your car on the edge of a cliff and push it off while I'm just sitting inside here like an idiot." I tug at this ridiculous scrap of fabric curtaining my eyes to a fake blind. "Can I take this off yet?"

"Did I give you my direct, and cordial permission to take that thing off yet?"

"Well no, but-"

"_Well no, but_ nothing." She stops me with an icy tongue. "You be grateful, or I'll send you back to mummy with a steering wheel around your neck."

"Grateful of what?" I ask, and my voice jumps off these walls in an admirably dull way. So uninterested. Gray. "Grateful of the fact that you're kidnapping me basically, and I haven't got the will to stop you?"

She flickers her tongue, and blinks once. Going to say something sassy. Going to piss me off.

"A lot of men would pay the soul of their first born child to be kidnapped by a pretty girl."

Okay. So she's pretty. But she's not a girl. She's more like a mean goat in pretty girls clothing. Or better yet, an ugly duckling in swan skin. I don't say any of this. Getting hit doesn't sound extremely fabulous today. But that doesn't mean I can't nip back at her. Er- minorly, in the least.

"Nobody's going to sell their soul to be kidnapped by you."

"I dunno. Soul dealerships are really down on their merch these days..." She only speaks. And she can't feel the burn, because she didn't light the fire. But she brought it up.

Online soul selling business. It was a joke. One of his jokes. An odder one, maybe even just sillier. And I love how three weeks ago is already just musty nostalgia that you dig out in your free time. I already miss it. I miss it, but I don't forgive it.

Because for some reason I decide that I'm mad. It's an odd moment for doing so. Paula has realized the speed bump in her words, and has fallen away to her own quiet. I'm wading in freshly broken shock. Decided that I'm mad. At him.

For not coming. Making me wait. For not saying goodbye. Never, never saying goodbye. Mad. I'm pissed. Pissed at what he did. Making the right decision. Mad at him for doing what's best.

Half a minute passes, and the sun begins to crack and dribble away into the ground. It's getting dark. And like she was waiting for a sherbert skyed moment, her voice comes again.

"You're thinking about him, aren't you?"

Not your case, sweetheart... And I stay quiet still, but answer with my mind. And I say yes. Yes, I'm thinking about him. And thinking does no good but to sweeten memories. Still, I'd rather not say.

"I know you are..." She prys, and it sounds when she says it like... Like upset. Like she's oddly upset by something. "It's...It's okay, if you are... You know... It's natural."

I spit lies through my own clenched teeth. "I'm not."

"I _know _you are." Repeats she, who breathes a sigh that I don't feel she deserves. She doesn't get to sigh like that. She hasn't got the right. Maybe somewhere else she does. But not here. Not now.

The other thing. She's said _I know you are._ I believe there is a moment and a time to claim that you know what something is thinking. And that time is _not_ when you are half the reason that the okay ran away.

"Just take me wherever you're going to, and cap this night already." That's my cut off. And my cut off is where the decisions start to bake. Here, where she's finally quiet, and the car is cold, and my head is warm and dripping with constant ache, decisions are made.

I am going to go to Crawley. I am going to forget. I am going to get a job. I am going to forget. I am going to live. Going to forget. Breathe. Forget. Grow old. Forget.

It becomes something I'm telling myself to stay alive. A chant. And if I were alone, I'd be cradling myself back and forth in a dark corner repeating it. _Crawley. Forget. Job. Forget. Live. Forget. Forget. Forget. Forget._

"Don't die yet, troubled young one." Paula sasses me, and I don't like that tone in her voice. I am a troubled young one, and she doesn't get to mess with that. "We're here."

"Whoop-ee." I just say _oh-so_ brightly. "Won't this just be enchanting."

"Hush your face."

"We've been in the car for a good two hours." I toss that point out there, in a less than friendly way. "This had better be pretty enchanting."

"It will be." I feel her hand grace my shoulder for a second as she speaks, but I don't see it for obvious reasons. It could have been a pigeon or something. "Get out and take your blindfold off after thirty seconds."

"Thirty seconds?"

"Yup."

"Why thirty seconds?"

"Because an angel flew down from heaven and told me you'd better wait for thirty fucking seconds to take your blindfold off, or someones going straight to hell for masturbation." She spits at me. I'd spit back, but I'm tired and sad and droopy and ugh.

"That angel doesn't sound very nice at all."I say instead. Pause. Chuckle at my own joke because no one else is.

"Get out of my car."

The list of reasons why I actually get out of this car, is non existant. And if it did exist, it's be a dirty sheet of paper with _Uhh I dunno _being the only thing written on it. The point here being, is that I find a way to clamber out of this car blindly, and I haven't an idea why I'm following though with it.

Maybe we're going waterskiing, or jet skiing. This is thought because I instantly hear water. But it's not heavily running, so that can't be true. Just lightly swooshing, like a river or creek or what not. But the night ain't warm, so I'm kind of hoping we're not skinny dipping or anything.

And somewhere in between the counting of thirty seconds, I hear a car start. somewhere past the end of thirty seconds, I hear it drive away. Somewhere past fourty seconds, I realize that was Paula's car.

At a minute, I realize this. I've been fucking dooped. Well, goodbye blindfold. You're not going to be much help, are you? When I rip it away, it falls so gently to the ground. So softly. So feather like, and I wanted that shit to crash and squeal and make a noise, because why?

Because I don't fucking know. This is the SECOND dark, cold, odd place I've been alone at in the past two weeks, and you know what? I'm thinking I should start a club for people who get left alone in scary places, because APPARENTLY that happens a lot.

Cooling down is a difficult process, which takes about five minutes tops. Unless you count the part where I swear off into this big sky which hates me so much, because that could take an extra minute or two. And it's not exactly hard to-... Well, at least not when I'm calm again... It's not exactly hard to know that I've been here before.

The river should have been my give away. Also that little hunk of wooded crap for a _"de-blessed_" or "_de-holy-fied"_ church, or whatever the shit. And also the car, which I've never seen in my life.

A Burnt white pick up. A stranger car. But I know a man, who in the time I've known him, has driven a different strangers car nearly every week of his life. And I know a man who likes to kidnap, but is none the less much to lazy to do it himself...And I know a man who's been here before.

And by the sliver of yellow-orange life glowing from the cracks of the not-church-anymore walls, I know he's in there. And I know I'm not happy about it. I shouldn't even go in there. That's what he _wants_ me to do.

And yet still, I don't know _what _he wants. He wants me to go in there. I can tell that much, and it doesn't take a detectives degree to figure it out. But the thing is, I don't know why.

But I know that it's dark out here. And I know that I don't like that. And as much as it hurts to give into his cruel expectations... It's what I want too, right? I mean, _I for one and myself_, don't want to be stranded out here, in the split center of somewhere, nowhere, wherever.

My lip is bitten by the teeth that want to bite more than that, and I mutter to myself. "Alright, you win. I'll play your little game."

But it doesn't have to be his game. I'm going to march right into there, and flip the tables, and make it my game. That's what I'm going to do. So do it. The ground was nice, but it's doing nothing but hold me here, so I march from it. Directly, directly, into that little open door square of orange light.

The smell is rat shit and warm moss. The sight: A party of burning twigs and paper pretending to be a firepit, smack in the middle of this rotting floor. Most everything else cleared away. Including anyone who was here before. The place is scat bare. The closest source of human life besides me within the radius, is only whichever bodies are laughing at me beneath the dirt outside.

The place is untouched. Not a voice, not a thought, not a soul to bargain with about it... But that little fire... Who started it?

"And I suppose you greet all abandoned buildings like this." Calls the sky, way up above my pretty little head. I would have jumped, if not for the fact that the voice is too deeply ringed into my skin to ever wash out.

"You know. Just standing about like that." He adds, quite neutrally. "It's not a proper greeting method."

"Neither is hiring someones ex girlfriend to knick them for you, and ship them off to an abandoned church." I barely even shift. Barely breathe. Don't show that little twinge of fear. _Where are you, you odd son of a bitch?_

"Maybe not for your kind." He whispers in a tone just echoed enough by the walls, for me to hear it. For a second he's only my imagination. But I don't imagine much anymore because, well... Imagining hurts, doesn't it? He must be real. Must be flying. Must be floating.

"Are you bout' to tell me how the hell you're speaking from six feet above my head, or can I leave?"

"Mm, perhaps." He drags out his voice, and slicks it out at the end in an annoying high note, just to piss me as he can. "I understand you've got a transit to catch, and I wouldn't want you being late..."

"Then why did you have me ordered here like a fucking pizza? Why didn't you come two weeks ago when I actually wanted to talk to you? Why did you wait until now, when I'm ACTUALLY leaving?!"

I stoop him. And I stoop myself. But I know this about him, because the only sound is the crackle of the fire, and the hum of his empty head. For a moment, at least. The block is still not off my chest. I've told about it, but it's not gone.

And it feels good to say. I missed you. And you let me miss you for too long. That kind of takes away from it. Maybe this eases a little when he speaks again.

"I need proper goodbyes just as well as the next person."

"Then show your face!" I bark. Maybe too loud. Maybe too soon. I turn my head about in every direction, gazing into the rafters like an idiot. Nothing there. There's emptiness, sure. And dust. But no one. "Where are you, anyway?"

"This would be... A great deal easier if we didn't actually have to see each other during this." He says... But its the first time here, that his voice hasn't been just neutral, or sassy, or charming. There was a sigh. I think.

"You uh... You can't see me?" I quiet myself. Only slightly.

"Not a hair on your head."

"Then..." This is when the wheels turn. My brain works for once. I breathe. And prepare an idea of sorts. "Then how do you know I won't just leave, and you'll be up there, so you won't be able to stop me?"

"Oh no no, you won't do that." His chuckle hits the walls almost dramatically. "I know you. I know how you work. You don't have the guts first of all, and also whether or not you know it yourself, you like it here. And you like _being _here... You missed me, didn't you?"

I did, Murdoc. I did. But you sort of let the water run cold, and now i have to say I'm mad at you. But worse than that, I'm mad at me for denying to myself how much I miss you. And I know, just like you know the taste of warm gin on a shitty day, that the moment you I see your face, I'm going to fall through the cracks and never get out again.

Or something like that. But lets ignore the question. Lets just sink into the ground anyway, but avoid the part where I melt through the cracks and never rise again. Let's just sit here, like I am. Hold my knees. Run my own lonesome fingers through hair that needs brushing. Sigh. I'm so used to it.

"Why am I here?" I ask myself. Only I speak to myself out loud, because my brain's too drunk on stupid feelings to hear me.

"What?" He scoffs at me. It echoes twice, and dies before his words pick up again. "You don't like my little playhouse?"

"I don't like your games either." I tell it to the flame of that crappy firepit. I feel for a moment that I can see it there. His face, in the fire. Still then, I see it everywhere don't I? Even when I'm not supposed to. "And I want to know why I'm playing them."

"Oh, it's a game is it?" He teases my words. Plays with my head. It _hurts._ Stop. I don't want to play this game. Not anymore. "If it's a game, I'm afraid you'll have to guess."

"_Why..._am I here?" I cheat. I cheat right in front of his invisible face. "You've thrown me away enough times, and I'm finally understanding it... I'm understanding this little game, and I know you don't want to play it the way I do. So why are you bringing me back? I... If you don't want to be with me, than why the hell are you bringing me back?"

We need a moment. I know he does, and I need one too. I hope to hell that I've made him see this. That I've taught him the error. This is _not fair._ If he doesn't want me, than he needs to stop touching my emotions. There are fingerprints on my heart. And they won't wash off if he keeps touching.

"I wanted to hear you again." And I feel his lips move somewhere up there, in the broken walls and rafters. After every bit of sight and sound and scent is gone from my body, I will forever be able to feel him move. What a beautiful curse that is. "The problem here is if I see you, or you see me, we're both going to collapse under all of this."

"Under all of what?"

"_Everything_."

I twist around a bit. Huff. Breathe. "I need to see you."

"You can't."

"Than I need to _touch _you."

"I know." Says the walls, and also him. He may say that, but he really doesn't know. I didn't know what kind of sick and twisted passion there was inside the dirty corners of this world until I'd touched Murdoc Niccals. And I need to do it once more. Be it sexual, or not, or whatever. I need it. "I've prepared you a bucket"

"A bucket? What f-"

"Yes, a bucket." He snaps at me. I don't care. "It's by that broken door thing. It's got water in it... Pour it on the fire."

"What?" The nervous hits my throat in a small gulp. "But... Then it'll be dark."

"Do you trust me?" Three seconds in. Three seconds is all it takes for me to gulp out a small _yeah,_ and for his reply to float down as a gentle but rough _Then do it._ And I follow his instruction like a scavenger hunt. Find the bucket. Check. Shit, it's heavy. Fuck, it sloshed on my pants. Never mind it. Pour it on the fire.

The sizzle of this soaked fire fills the empty slot that silence leaves. In less then three seconds, the fiery orange is at its blackest black. The room is a literal void of nothing, and as _emotinal teenager years_ as that may sound, you haven't an idea how true it feels. The aftersizzle is nothing comforting. The quiet is louder than the sizzle. And there are these couple of minutes, where I'm just standing there. Looking at nothing. Hearing nothing.

Feeling nothing but everything. And then I feel the noise. Moving. Walking. Climbing. Movement. And even if we're alone, every instinct tells me to start flailing my limbs to deflect possible burglers. But one instinct kind of masks them. The instinct to care. And the instinct to love. It's right here with me. Warm. And so is he.

He's here now. I can't tell you how, but there's a connection, and it's invisible to my mind. I think it's something my heart isn't telling me. How I can feel him here. I could be wrong. But I know I'm right.

"Boo." Scares the scary man, and I know now that he's right the hell in front of me. It's his voice. And I am not scared. Not scared of him, at least. Maybe myself.

"Boo you too." I tell the night, but I know he hears it to. He knows it was meant for him. "Now what was the point of this whole setting out the fire thing?"

"I don't have to see you." He shrugs. I know it. I have his body language almost memorized. And I know when and what is coming. Be it a smirk, or a blink. I think I'll know. "You don't have to see me. But we're here, aren't we?"

"So it's all the same." I mumble. He should be nodding about now. "And I guess that somehow subtracts from the sting of goodbye?"

"Correctamundo. And you didn't think I'd let you leave without a proper wave off, now did you?"

A small pinch of my own anger. Comes from nowhere. Adds itself into the bowl. "I didn't think you'd let me leave at all."

"Stuart.."

Little does he know, he's rubbed me up the wrong way. Hell, little did I know. I have miniature explosions sometimes.

"Don't stuart me, I waited for two weeks." And boom, goes one of them. Quiet, quiet. Shift in the air. He doesn't even speak. I shake my head in disbelief. Almost laugh at this shit. "I sat by the windowsill for two weeks, two god damned weeks. Waiting for a call, a letter, a solution... Why didn't you come for me?"

"Stuart. Listen to me." He talks like the rain. Have I said that before? Soft, and quiet. Gently dropping into my eardrums. Don't be charmed, Stuart. Stay strong. "I can't save you anymore."

Oh-ho. That's all I can say. Saved. Because I am apparently. A damzel. Because he is apparently superman. Because I have apparently never helped him once in his natural life. Always saving poor little me. Love? Whats love? Saving, yeah. That's it. Bull. Fucking. Shit.

"That's what you think you were doing?" Asks the apparent damzel. "Saving me? From what? From myself? From the big bad scary world? I can handle myself. I'm not an idiot, and I don't want to die anymore. I'm alive by my own will. But that doesn't mean I _want_ to be by myself."

"I don't see what you want here."

I find that hard to believe. I'm standing in a pitch black pit of nothing and smoke with a Satanist con who I'm apparently in love with, and I find _that _hard to believe. That he doesn't know.

"I want _you_. I want to _see _you." I beg. Yes. Beg. I'm begging. I need this. I don't need Crawley. I don't need the job, or the home, or the family. I need this.

"You can't." Says he. I hardly listen at all. "It'll kill us both."

"Then why am I here?" I repeat. Again. Why am I here? If I'm not to do anything, then why am I here? Am I just a keychain or something? A little prize for you to dangle in front of your face, but never even get a chance to look at?

It's not quiet anymore, quite suddenly. I hear breathing. I hear sighs, and I hear laughter, and talking, and I hear the chorus line of fifteen years. Fifteen terrible, ugly, awful years. But god, were they _beautiful._

And then, the touch. It's small, but it's there. His hand. My hand. A small tangle of skin in the dark. His hand is dry, but caked with warmth. I jump when it happens. When he plays with my hand, or just holds it sort of. And I know this isn't like him. It's never like him. But who has to know in the dark?

"I'm here, aren't I?" He says in a tone that is only for me. Mute to the rest of the world. And as he does, we are something like colliding. Secretly caving closer into each other, and nobody can judge who caved first because there is nothing to see but black.

"People say emotions are blind." He reasons quietly, speaking closer to my ear now. "So why do you have to see someone to feel them?"

I bite my lip because he wants to kiss me. I can feel it in his pulse, it's telling me or something. That sounds weird and insane, but once you've been here, it's the truest thing in the world. His arm. He snakes it around my waist. Grabs a hip, and uses it to pull me closer into him.

My chin is just a limp bird on his shoulder. It becomes clear now, that I couldn't move if I tried. Maybe it's the lack of sexual interaction I've had in the past few months, but this little moment is completely dominating me. But this almost doesn't feel sexual. Just warm. And I don't know what this is, or what we are. But we're different today, but we're the exact same. I cannot explain that.

"God, I miss you." I say it out loud. With real voice, for the first time since I've been thinking it. And that truth rolls off my tongue like the sweetest confession ever told.

His body tightens around mine. His stray hand, toying about comfortingly in my hair. I feel his chest. He's breathing. That's all I could ask for. "Show me."

I forgive. For no reason at all, none in the least, I secretly forgive him when he didn't even know I was mad. And I show myself that. I take him temporarily home, with my arms around his neck. Chin resting on his shoulder. This is where I want to be. This is all I want, and nothing more. I'll die happy, with the knowledge that I've had someone who loved like this. Enough to break his own system. Enough to be here. Right now. Here. With a fool like me.

I think we don't even catch the fact that we're moving. Kissing is quite distracting, if I forgot to mention that. But he's quite captivating enough to make a man forget, I'll say that much. Our lips met like old friends, and that was it. No fiery passionate tongue tango. I don't need it. This is quite enough for me.

We've crammed ourselves into a corner or something, I think. My back to the wall. His hands in my hair. Tongues just beginning to poke through and greet. I'm taking note. The taste of his mouth is dry whiskey and dryer tobacco. I'm almost melting under it. Sinking. Oh wait, no. We are sinking. We're sitting now, or something like it. I'm hunched to the ground, and he, pretty much draped all over me. Still locked together in every which way.

I don't even catch his hands creeping above my belt line. He's teasing me. Seeing how far he can push me until he decides to make a move, which I'm not even sure I want him to make. Don't get me wrong here. A little of _this_ and _that_ is just what the doctor ordered, but I'm not sure how far I'm willing to go here.

His mouth detaches as he works his fingers around my waist. Those lips move quickly, working down to my neck, which I know he likes. He's got a thing for necks. I've learned that before. Almost right off the bat, he's sucking viciously at a small spot just a few inches above my collarbone. Breathing like some sort of crazed athlete. Breathing. Sucking. Licking. Biting. And I'm just that helpless little lump of whatever, resting my hands on his shoulders.

And then, the hands. They uh. Push through, if you catch me. My belt, I mean, He tunnels past my waistband, and into that little cave in which my eherm, less than public parts are set. At first he's just playing. Walking his fingers around sensitive areas. heavily petting. Driving me crazy with every different way he touches. That is ofcourse, until he decides it'd be a good idea to pinch the tip of my penis in his fingers. That brings something else. A noise, more like. A drawn out groan that bounces off the walls, and into his ears. Probably fueling him in odd ways.

But somehow I stop. I don't know why, but it hits me that I'm nervous. It hits me that for some odd reason, I'm not ready to jump back into this yet. This isn't a movie, I've said it before. I can't just melt right back into sexual activity like we never stopped this. Call me a teenage girl, but I think I need time.

"Murdoc..." I tug on his collar, just in case he needs something else other than my voice to notify him that this isn't flying.

"Yeah?" He speaks quickly, taking less than a second for a break before returning to play vampire on my neck.

"I uhmm..." This is when the embarrassment sinks in. Again, this all feels wonderful. And If I didn't know doing this would for sure do something wrong, I would let the games go on. "I don't know if I want to just... jump back right into this, right now."

"Huh?" Of course. He's only going to listen when somebody's telling him they're not exactly going to fuck him senseless for the time being. He keeps his hand lingering where it is, but moves his mouth away to speak. "When else? It's not like we're going to have another time."

"Uhh..." My brain says _uh-oh_, but my mouth doesn't voice it. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean... Your bus leaves at about ten, right?" Bus. Leaving. You still want me to go.

And I swear on everything holy that there is not a sound in the world right now. All only me. Sitting here. He quietly removes his hand from my pants. And I'm just sitting here, having another breakthrough.

And that breakthrough is one that I should have kept close from the moment I got here. He hasn't changed his mind. He would have fucked me up, down, and sideways, before shipping me off to take a bus back home to Crawley, where I'd cry to my mum about it.

Nothing changed. Things don't change. People don't change, and they don't change their minds. This is how it is: Murdoc cut the rope while I was still walking on it, and I fell too far. Believe it or not, I'm still falling. Time to stop. Time to get on my feet again.

"Yeah." I mouth. "Yeah, it does."

That's when I get mean. I push him away, and I can feel him wondering why. I'm cold. I'm angry. In every way. I hear him scramble to get up, but I don't hear is words because I don't want to. And I'm trying _so fucking hard _not to hear them, but they're so loud. They're so god damned loud.

He's following me out the door. Asking. Shouting. Maybe apologizing. For once, I'm not crying. Not crying. But my head is, and maybe my heart too. My last promise to myself: Don't turn around, because he was right.

Seeing people makes it so much worse. But he was also wrong. Touching makes it worse too. If things can get worse, by hell they will. I walk away without seeing. I walk away without listening. Not knowing where I'm going.

Maybe going to a bus stop. Maybe going to hell. But then again, I was already in hell. Whether it was a warm one or a hot one... I don't know.

"Stu... C'mon, what'd I do?"

I heard him. _God damnit_, I heard him. And what's worse, is what he's said. _What'd I do._ I don't know, Murdoc. Maybe it's what you didn't do. Or maybe it's everything you do. You were going to leave. You weren't going to save me. You were _never _going to save me.

"You... You were just going to leave, weren't you?" I ask. I don't know what I'm expecting. It's a yes. Of course it's a yes, and he's going to lie about it. I hate how well I know him.

"N-no, of course not!"

"Than... Than you were gonna' ship me off to crawley and act like nothing happened."I call. No answer. It's simple. If truth calls, nobody is going to pick up.

"...It's freezing out. Come back inside, or at least just... Shit, I dunno'. Let me drive you somewhere." He brushes away the subject with a cold hand. My words are not pesky bugs. It may be cold. And the air smells like rain, but find someone who cares about it. I don't.

There is a bus somewhere. And it's waiting for me, and it's going to pick me up and render me the safest I've felt in a long time. You've got to have quite a guy when you feel better on a public bus than you do in his presence. There is a bus. Somewhere. I'm going to find it. It's going to save me.

And as I begin to walk, my thoughts go faster than my feet want to take me. That's fine.

I'll think less.

_/

I am three miles deep into saving myself. And another three miles deep into the rainy season.

The sky is crying. I forgot who'd said that. Something tells me not to remember. Chances are, it was Noodle. Chances are, if I remember Noodle, I'm going to join the sky and cry with it. So I tell myself to shut up, and myself listens. After all, I've got to listen to myself. Myself is my only friend. But if you can keep it sealed, I don't like him much.

Current situation: Half asleep on a dirty bench, by a bus stop that I can only assume is dirty as well. This of course, won't take me to directly home. It'll take me to a different bus station, where I can take the _real_ bus that I was _supposed _to take home. But I'll get there. Problem solved.

Ha. Funny. Problem solved. Isn't that cute. A peachy thought.

Peachy is not a word for a day of this kind. Peachy is not a word for a _life_ of this kind. Things are too angry to be peachy. Too wet, and too sad, and too... familiar, I think. If not read, I think I might have been here before.

I'd like to think not. It's not a good place to be. Not here. Not in the rain, with the trees, and the road, and that set of cracked headlights spidering up the road. Oh-ho. Not bus headlights. Not just any headlights. Not even headlights.

More like two littlefuckball beams of light that belong to a stolen burnt white pickup. I could feel this. I could smell it, and I could taste it too. I have been here. Maybe not here, but in this situation. I knew it from the moment I knew it. Does that make sense? Sure it does. Truck slows down. Stops so quaintly in front of me. Window down. I knew it.

Oh god, my heart. This, I repeat this, is the first time I've seen him in a good two weeks. I'm having a fucking heart attack, look at him. He's looking at me. Oh my god, he's looking at me. Why is this so weird, and tingling, and hard to do? It's been two weeks. Not like... two years, or whatnot!

But god, look at him. How can one human-ish thing be so beautifully crafted, and mean, and ugly, and wonderful? And he's looking at me... And I'm looking at him. And he's waiting for something. Well, what are you waiting for? Say it. Don't just sit there like the idiot you know you are.

It's wet, and it's cold, and i'm currently hating everything. But it's so hard to hate something you _know _you don't hate. Something you know you love with every fiber in your complete being.

Someone needs to speak. Someone really should speak. Please, please,_ please _say something... But he doesn't. He just sits there. Watching me. Like a fool. Which is weird, because he's the one who showed up here in the first place. Looks like I'll have to crack this.

"Have we been here before?"

"That's... What I was just thinking." He cracks half a smile. And it warms me. Part of me, at least.

But I cock my head. Trying to look strong. Trying to _feel _strong. "...Why are you here?"

And then, it goes a little something like this.

"Why are _you _here?" Says him.

"Because you use me." Says I

"I worry for you."

"So you use me?"

"No, I... I just-"

"Use me?"

"No!"

"You're a user!" It hits me just as hard as it hits him. "You shoo me away until you get horny, and then you bring me back and ship me off again!"

"It's... It's not like that!" He fires back. Doesn't dent me.

"Then what is it like?!"

"It's like this." He reasons. I somehow know I'm not going to comply. "Get in the car."

"No!"

"Why?"

"Because _where _are you gonna' take me?" And that stumps him. He's asking himself right about now. "You wanted me gone, and now I'm leaving... You should be complete... So why do you want me to get in the car, Murdoc?"

The answer is thin air. Because it's there somewhere, but nobody can see it. And he isn't going to say it. He's going to sit here ans watch. And wait, as my clothes are only getting heavier by the minute, with all of this damn rain.

And oh, look. A bus. How quaint. How perfect. How memorable. It rolls up, just as it should. And just as it did however many years ago. With an electric growl, it halts. The lights flash. It's waiting for me.

And it's not the only thing waiting. I look at him like I've forgotten he was there. I've never seen a more hurt look on anyone, or anything. I did that. I've hurt him, and I don't even know how.

"I need to think... About things... And I need your help with that. Please... Get in the car."

Boom. My thoughts, or feelings, or whatever these are, are shattered and kaboomed into a dust, a powder. And they sink from my brain. And they exit my mouth. "If you love me, why'd you leave me?"

"I'd rather you hate me than die."

"I wouldn't have died! I'm going to die like this!" Breathe. Stop. Admit things. Breathe again. Spill. "You don't have to be dead... to be really _dead._ And right now... I'm _dying_."

Only rain. Only electric growls, and tinkering noises, and the soundtrack of fifteen years. With the add on of a small voice... Murdoc. A small voice. How is that possible?

"Please... Get in..."

And that soundtrack of fifteen years plays on, and on to those little white dots in the sky. I listen to it, and I think. I think of decisions.

And I'm changing my mind by the second. I'm dying right here... And I'm potentially dying in that car. It's so hard to think when you haven't a mind to think with. I look into the bus, and I see home. And I see safety. It's okay there. Everything... Will be fine.

But I look at him, and it's something different. I look at him, and I see hell.

And my, does it look warm.

**REVIEWER VOTE:**

**Loook Farmiliar? Ha-ha.**

**Should 2D:**

**A: Get in the car**

**or **

**B: Get on the bus**

**So what this time? Thaaanks for reading, and being patient and all! Love you all, my dears. **


	70. 70: Should You Need Me

**Chapter 70: Should you need me**

**AN: Thanks for voting, and such! **

The air was a scent of wet skin, and the feeling was mutual. _I hate you. I love fix me._

It's silly, you know. How I remember how he smelled when wet, rather than what day it was. And I remember the games addiction was playing with my vicodin soaked brain. And I remember that the bus was gaping, and big, and waiting for friends. A lonely shell. Empty and cold. Could be life. There wasn't.

Pay me the world, and for it I will still never remember what I was thinking the last time this happened. Hello, I'm back. Not the same place. Not the same bus. But the situation isn't a freckle away from a perfect match. And I can't offer myself even a scrap of advice here.

What was I thinking? No, literally! Where did I go then? I remember the feeling. And yet, never the thoughts. I was cold, but I became warm within the underfolds of what the night held for me. Why was I warm? What made me warm? This isn't a rhetorical thing, here! I need answers! I need a solution! I need to be saved! I _want_ to be saved.

So do I save myself... Or do I let _him_ save me?

The door surprises me when it cracks. Not the bus door. His door. But the bus is getting anxious, or rather the driver. I tell the driver to hold off. Ask him to. Say I'll pay him extra. He accepts. The question is why I asked the driver to wait. Why I'm waiting. Why I'm waiting for bullshit to come parading out of Murdoc's mouth, bells and whistles and all. A pair of sunken eyes caves into the rain, and his door shuts with dramatic closure to that world of artificial warmth, and stolen-car-goodness. He's here. Dealing with this, actually. Dealing with me, actually.

The rain is booming, and crashing, and overall silent. And the rain is hard. And the night is still. And our eyes are met. And his are sad. They're... worried. Maybe there's regret there. I can't tell, because I'm completely invested in the moving of his mouth.

"Y'know, Crawley... It ain't so wonderous, once you've been there a couple times..." His eyes eat into mine, and we become casual strangers hiding behind the history of one thousand years.

My shoulders twitch. I look away. "I know. I kind of grew up there... And used to live there, and stuff..."

Not like I need to tell him. If I was a book, he'd know every chapter, I think. If I was a book, he would have been the writer, I think again. And likewise for him. It's why I know what he's going to say next. _Than why are you going?_ Or something like that.

"Well-..." His tongue cuts his words away with a distressed sigh, before he brings his words again with a deep breath. "Than why the hell go?"

"Why the hell not? You sure as shit haven't given me a hope to stick around for." I jab, and for the time being he's defeated. A sucker in the rain. Running over his choices with a regretful finger.

I breathe again. And I do it for me. No dramatic effect needed. The rain is quite enough, thank you. But with the breath, comes a thought... And the words to match it. "You've been shooing me away for straight weeks. So I finally get my shit sorted and up and leave, and you decide y-you're going to show up and save the day?"

"Sure. If that's how you want to take that spoonful." He sways me with that sleek charm scented voice. Just fucking kidding.

"Well f-fuck you, Murdoc!" Hit. "I needed my life saved, not my day."

"I _did _save your life." He kicks. I twitch at the nerve of him. "On several different occasions, might I add."

The bus thinks of leaving, expelling these thoughts with an arrogant honk. I think of leaving too. Expelling _my_ thoughts, with a shake of the head and a click of the tongue that rolls out in a soft sigh.

"You've got some fucking nerve to dig that up, y'know?" I ache it out. I think he knows now. He knows how it hurts when digs up old hatchets that have long since cut the both of us. "You... You don't have to remind me of how fucked up I was every time I step out of the line you want be to be in...You... You know what you are?"

"What?!" Barks this vicious thing as the beast eclipses whatever nice there was there."An arsehole? A neurotic excuse for air? A waste of human life? Psychotic, schizophrenic, ugly, rude. Choose one, mix and _fucking_ match."

Mix and _fucking _match.

It's so unfortunate. So unfortunate how little he thinks of my love. How small his faith in me is. Enough so, that he would think any of those titles, let alone _mix and matching_ them, would be my way of describing him.

If he is psychotic, than psychotic is my way of life. If he is a waste of air, than I will be the waste of space underneath him. We're the sea scum in life. The trash, the outcasts, the misfits, the odds. And sometimes the odds make an even. That is, when theres two of them.

"No, Murdoc." I answer. After long enough that I hope he's not believing I think any of those things are true. Because I really don't. The thought was never a possibility. But these ones... These ones always were.

"I think you're beautiful..." I shrug. Hoping to god he hears me. I can't hear myself. Nothing but rain. Nothing but compressed sighs. "And... And I think you're smart, and talented, and handsome, and... And..."

"...And what?"

Pause. Breathe. Play.

"And I honestly believe that somewhere in there, you've got a good heart... And I think I've seen it before. Maybe seen it, or... or felt it... But you want to know what I think you are? I think you're mean. And I think you _think_ you're tough, but... but..."

"Spit it out." He hisses real quiet. "Spit it out, if it's worth anything."

My prime example shines through a crack in the door. I bring a finger. Point it at him. Hope he doesn't bite.

"_There_ it is." I shake my head. "Right there... I'm in love with you. But you know what? You're in love with yourself, aren't you?"

And you're _so confused_, my dear.

Doesn't get it. He doesn't understand, because he knows the hate in his veins, and I know it too because I think I can feel it go away when I touch him. Love is not his word. Let alone does he feel it for himself. That's why his eyes. That's why they're hollow. That's why they're filled with thought and dripping with confusion.

"Or wait... But you hate _everything_, now don't you?" My tongue cuts my thoughts. Feeling mean. Don't want to be mean to him. _Please _don't be mean to him. "So you're... I can't believe I never understood this before... Jesus _shit._ First time in my life..."

_What do you understand?_ I hear his mind. Never his mouth.

With the holding up of a _wait please _ finger, I ignore a sea of honks and beeps. I need these five minutes. Five to end and cap several thousand is enough, I think.

"You're only in love with how much you hate everything."

"I want you to ask yourself something." It's so quick. That reaction. His words come out clean, free of jitter or stutter. The way they come out when you're sure of them. When you've thought of them. Thought before you spoke.

Curiosity is a dangerous animal. Pecking at your brain, and such. Pulling your verbal cords. Forcing out words that you shouldn't say. "Wh-what?"

Making you give in. That's curiosity, for you.

"Who am I?"

Easy one for sassy tongues to reply to. A dick, an arsehole, a series of other dirty body parts that one wouldn't like to be called. But it's too cold for sass. I'm too cold for sass. And I'm too drunk on my own emotions to be sober enough for mocking.

"Murdoc Niccals." I say just oh-so matter-of-factly.

He blinks. Twitches a finger. Just documenting his movements over here. Don't mind me. Moves a little closer. But why wouldn't he? We've always had magnets between us. And whether those magnets are flipped to bring us together or bring us apart, is purely in our hands.

"And who did you apparently fall in love with?"

Ah. A question I ask myself everyday. Of course the matter is, I know just exactly who I fell in love with. The unsure part is just why, and which Murdoc he'll be masquerading as on any given day.

And still.

Still, my heart falls into my stomach, and is now struggling not to disintegrate under the waters of my nerve. And I don't know why. He just does this.

"M-... Murdoc Niccals."

"And you should know..." His voice breaks. Oh my god, his voice just broke. A split, a shatter in disguise as the smallest crack. I beat Murdoc Niccals. I cracked the rock. He is human. He breaks sometimes. Like humans do.

"You should know that he loves you too." Speaks a daze. Murdoc says it, but his voice is stolen by dreams. His eyes are in mine, but he seems to be wandering. "Isn't that... Isn't that odd? He loves you too...Yeah..."

He's in dream. Thinking. Drifting. Wandering. Sinking. And who can blame him? A dream is a wonderful thing. A ticket to freedom. And it only costs a few seconds.

Murdoc Niccals loves me too. Just now noticing. Collecting data. _You should know that he loves you too._He says this, and I'm contemplating his dreams? He loves me. He loves me.

Murdoc Niccals still loves me. God, I already knew this didn't I? But why does that make it so much harder to leave? And shit, if he loves me why does he do this to me? My brain is not a doormat. No, my heart is not a fucking doormat. If this is love, then what the hell is hate?

The clock strikes now. And now is now or never. I've got to speak. I've got to go.

"I didn't think it was odd." I only touch him with my voice. He's so far away. Only right there. Three feet in the very least, away. No. Miles. "I liked odd... Odd liked us too."

I haven't thought a sound more beautiful than noisy silence. I've heard the rain before, and it's never been so unhearably loud before. I'ts singing. I can hear it singing. A slow ballad. A metal anthem. I think for a moment that our life has been an album, each year another track. Year fifteen. Track fifteen. Barely music at all. Just a hum of rain and groaning and the repeated hush of _goodbye, goodbye, goodbye._

I press pause. Eject the album. End of track fifteen.

"Hey Murdoc?"

There is no hesitation, but a three second breath that he drops right in the middle.

"Yeah?"

Give me a moment to remember what. No, give me fifteen years. Take me back to the beginning. Let me look at your face for the first time again. Let me put it on repeat one more time.

_And it finally looks like another long day of work is coming to an end. _

No. It never did. It ended today.

Brain, unclench my fists. Make me breathe again. Spew. "Thanks for choosing uncle Norm's Keyboard Emporium."

He nods. Or no. I imagine he does. I imagine that he's smiling, and laughing and accepting this as a joke, and basking. Basking in little memories. But I just imagine. Reality brings no nod. Just a dipped head. A cough, maybe. Yeah. A small movement.

Words. "Thanks for working... This is yours."

I'm caught between his small words, and wondering what's mine. He's not really moving anymore, and that makes it scary when it does. I catch a thought in my head. It's a gun. It's a knife. It's a man eating caterpillar. No. He's better.

If death is a DVD case, I'm dead. The exchange is quick. Nearly rushed, on his part. The case is transferred from the inside of his heavy coat, to his hand. Then only, to be almost pushed into me. I take it without much hesitation.

_You could be happy here..I could take care of you... I wouldn't let anybody hurt you... We could grow up together._

It's silly, how that happens. It's silly how well that fits, and it's silly that I ever bought a copy of E.T in the first place, and it's the silliest of all that so many years later he's pushing that same copy back into my arms as I place a movie quote onto his lips in which he's never said.

But he _has_ said it. Guessing game or not. I remember. The boat. Guessing game. Whether he remembers or not, he said it. And I remember.I felt every word on my skin, and it was the truest lie.

The first thought are those words. Standing behind that in line, is this fact: This was one of my missing films. My stolen films, who's faces have been missing for a good seven years. I could have raised a small child in the time that this has been gone. Not that I'd want to. Not that I would have, the position I was in when these films were nicked.

An odd gift from an odd man to an odd friend. Everything about us, odder than the next. Avoiding an odd love, and an odd past. Odd him. Odd me. Odd look on his face. He looks almost anxious, actually.

Because somewhere behind that dearest face, there are tornadoes, and earthquakes that I think I've created. And the sun has set on another day of paid programming, brought to you by Stuart H. Pot. Return to your beds. The show is over.

I don't say goodbye, and I know that I'm going to cry for it later. Just leave.

There'll be a field of apologies waiting to be plucked and place in plots that don't need them. I'll have so many goodbyes to give. So many alternative situations that could have been placed. But I don't use them.

I just leave again, because I'm so good at leaving. Maybe eight steps for my sopping sneakers until I'm going home. It happens in a click. A blink. I'm going home. I'm warm, and the rain is only a comfort to see trickling past the windows. Bus driver says something. I don't talk. I talk, I'll cry. I move, I'll cry. I do anything but sit here and the seven seas will break from my eyes. The only thing to do. Grow up.

And I have. I'm a grown up. An adult man, on his way home from a hard fifteen years of work and play. _I'm such a good boy._ Says the head. _I did the right thing, and I am such a good boy._

And then, so small, just barely nothing at all: I remember something I've never learned.

Maturity isn't busses and ties and business suits. Maturity is learning to wear your own cape. Being your own super hero. Now a man, I've learned something. Home is safety. If not safety, find your real home. And with hope, I'm going there... But it's cute to think that. To think that your mothers house is home when you've been in the arms of someone who wants to _be _your home.

But, hey.I can drown my brain, and I can drown my heart, but I cannot drown this: You can take me away, but you cannot take whats mine. Murdoc is my home. This is just permanent vacation.

But... _You could be happy here_...I _could take care of you... I wouldn't let anybody hurt you... We could grow up together._

No. No, we couldn't have, because all the growing up I've done, I've done on my own, now haven't I? I'm an adult. I'm a _fucking adult,_ and what's more, I am not your woman, and I have grown up more in these past few weeks than I've done in every birthday, in every year... And you know what else? I'm grown up enough to admit that it hurts.

Why wouldn't it? It's after midnight, and I'm a ghost on a bus. I'm soaking wet, and I'm tired, and I have eyes but they will not cry for you and your antics. I have a brain, and it's not going to think of you. And as grown up as I am, I will admit this. I have a heart. And it's going to break for you.

Maybe perhaps, it already has.

But... _You could be happy here_...

His face. It's looking at me. It's sagging through these tubes in my brain. It's finding it's way into my projectors. Looking at me. I made... I made him sad. I upset Murdoc Niccals. Because _I_ have just pushed away what we've worked so hard on. I broke it. My fault.

_Me._

_It was me._

"No it _wasn't_..." Says he, who is me. Whispering to myself. If I can't believe my brain, maybe my voice will surfice. Where would he have taken you, Stuart? Dropped you off at Paula's and showed up every noon or so for a cup of tea and a _backroom fuck_?

I don't want to be a responsibility! I want to be loved! That's all I wanted, and is that such a selfish thing to wish for? Do you know how hard it is to walk away from the hand that feeds you, no... The hand that _loves_ you?

Fuck! Fuck you, world! It's not fair! I'm crying on a public bus, because I want to be loved! Crying! Public bus! I don't know what love is, but I hate it. I hate this. I hate me, I hate them, I hate this. I hate the sun, and the moon, and the air, and the other things that shelter our pathetic lives. I hate this, I hate that, I hate the grass, and the trees, and the way you can hear the buoys in the harbor when you click your ears on just right... And I hate it. I hate it all.

And I still hate you. And I still love you. And I still need you. Help me.

_You could be happy here_...

And fuck this movie, and all of it's producers and actors and set caterers who brought donuts to tired actors. Fuck you, _et. _Fuck that smudge on the face of your casing. It's his thumbprint. Oh my god, it's his thumbprint. Fuck it. Fuck the thumbprint too. And fuck that little scrap of paper hanging out of the edge of the case...

It's... It's small, and damp and somehow chalky. Maybe an expensively made business card, waiting to be picked up by an expensively made human who might yawn, and consider using it to hire expensive services. I don't really care about that. I care about what it's doing in my movie case.

I almost get angry at it. Just for being there. So I open the case in mild hostility. _Fuck you for intruding into my movie case. _I'm too hostile, apparently. Pop, and the paper swifts up into the air, and down onto the dirty ground with a tin clink.

Paper doesn't clink. Metal clanks. So that's odd, of course. What I find is the paper, hiding in fear under the bus seat. That's the first thing I pick up. The second was the clank. The second was metal.

A small elaborately twisted and sculpted piece of metal that smart people call keys, and it's almost sad that I thought it was something else at first. A key. A normal old key. My attention is now to the paper.

I touch the wet corner. And I read. And somewhere in the world, someone is having the worst stomach pain of their life. That someone is me. It often hurts when your heart is dissolving in your stomach, you know. The paper speaks in his voice. Raspy. Tired.

_Should you need me_

Stop the bus. Stop the angst. This is a _thing._

Stop the bus, this is a _house key._ An _apartment key._ And the note is a mismatched twin.

I am not grown up. I never will be, because my fingers are shaking, and my heart is too, and I can admit that right here, right now, I am scared. I am not grown up, because my knees hold through weakness. I'm getting up. I'm getting off. I'm going home. This is reality, and in reality I will never be grown up. Who needs to grow up anyway? As long as you've learned, you never need to. And I believe that I _have _learned.

I believe that I am a love incapable teenager in the skin of a love incapable man.

Every odd against me. Every force to be reckoned with, and every doubt, and every spike in the road that could be here, _is _going to be here. And I honestly believe with all of my glue and tape heart, that I don't belong in Crawley, and I don't belong in safety, or warmth, or certainty.

I belong out there, and I _belong _with danger.

No.

I belong with him.

"Stop the... Stop the bus, please." I assume that just because the road is empty and we're not going very fast, that he'll just listen and let me slide off without much more of a problem.

I'm waved off. Shooed off. Who can blame him? I'm a random pedestrian who just made him waste ten minutes of his life waiting for me and my literally gay situations. No. This is urgent. Urgent as in, if I don't do this I'm going to spend the rest of my life suppressed inside a shell with myself and my stupid memories.

"Listen, man... I really need to uh... Get off of this bus, it's... It's..."

"Listen, kid." And after so many years of it, I'm still kid. But seeing the position I'm in, I listen. "I'm going to stop this bus. And then you're going to do me a favor and abandon your reign of bus driver terrorizing, and do us all a solid by _stopping _with the _fucking_ bus riding, if you're not sure you want to ride. Understand me?"

Oh, I understand. And if I wasn't paralyzed by my own realizations, I would tell him that. And now I don't know what's happening. I'm over thinking. I'm over thinking _everything. _But the bus is stopping. Stopping for me.

I can't explain it all, but there is so much going on in only a few moments. So much below the surface that I will never understand, and never even be able to explain to myself. I can say this. It's stopping. Within a few moments, I'm cold again. Within a few more, the only sources of useable light are speeding away with an angry bus driver and a stray DVD case.

The rain should have lightened up by now. But this is my life we're talking about here, so it hasn't. So the sky is still crying like it has something to cry about, and I'm just here. Waiting on an empty road for an empty promise that I've made to myself.

I've got myself, a key, and a reason to walk for however many miles it takes to get to Murdoc. To get _home._ And I don't know why, but somehow I know that I can _call _it home. But in the least... In the least, I've got hours. Maybe even the _whole night _of just trudging through mud and dirt and god knows whatever else.

So off we go. Into this wild black wonder. And I have to say, it seems so much less dark when you've got a light in your head...But... Then again, it seems to be getting less dark overall. Not even hypothetically speaking anymore.

There's a light on the trees. But not coming from them... More like on them. Just a splash of dim yellow on the green. Growing larger with a certain noise from behind me... And I smile.

I smile, because those are headlights... And I smile because these aren't just headlights. This is _one _headlight. The other, cracked or dead and left behind in a back alley somewhere.

Other people replace their headlights.

Other people don't steal cars and drive them around without worry.

Other people aren't him.

And I turn around, and I find it. This is not my superhero. This is just a car. This is not my rescue from manic depression, or my savior from pain and anxiety, blah-dee-blah. I can save myself, and I can live without arms to hold me up.

But I can't love myself like that, now can I? And I can't hold myself like he did, either. I am not doing this to live. I am walking over there to love. Weaving through the beam of one headlight, I am walking there because this is what I want.

_Should you need me_

Yes. I need him. Every now and again, and I never know when these moments are, but I'll need his comebacks, and his angst, and his tired sarcasm, and every last ugly little bit of his soul that I've learned to love.

When I approach the door, I learn that I have been running. When I learn that I have been running, I learn that I am in tears. Not just in them. Totally consumed by them. It could have been me crying the whole time instead of rain, and I never would have noticed.

I've opened hundreds of doors, and I've gotten in hundreds of cars... But I will say that this is different. I have never opened a door to find a warmth like this. I have never caught drift of a scent like this, and I don't even know what that scent is, but I'm utterly and completely in love with it.

I have never crashed into someone so fast. It's insane. Without even closing the door, or taking a moment to ponder indipendance or something like that, I am his for the taking. Not even taking a moment to look at him. My head fits so perfectly into the curve of his neck. And my quiet tears stain it so well... Here, I am completely collapsed to be nearly lifeless on a man I was ready to forget ten minutes ago.

No. I never could have. Not when I'm crying like this. Not when I'm holding him like this. It doesn't work that way.

It's the warmest ten minutes of my life, and every second of it feels clean. The sound of my sniffles and almost-chokes are totally draped by his breathing, and I feel for a moment that I'm the only person who can hear it. Maybe I'm the only person who wants to. Ten minutes. And I feel his arms, and they're actually around me. And I hear him sigh... And I think for a moment, that monsters can love too.

"So you needed me, I'm assuming." Just like that, he lays down his soft words and I cuddle into them and let them soak me.

"Sh-shut up, I always did..." I didn't think it was possible to chuckle through my current state. It is. And I did. I nuzzle into his neck, and imagine he likes it as much as I do. "I just... I thought you said you... N-never changed your mind?"

"I didn't." His hand a shy ghost, I feel his hand so carefully begin to stroke my head. "And I _don't_ change my mind... But no one never said I couldn't make it up again."

I laugh at it, and it feels good. It feels good to be able to accept that. To accept his sass, and take it in stride because that's just who he is, and I wouldn't want it any other way.

If I could speak again without exploding in every possible way, I would tell him I love him, and I would tell him how scared I was, and I would tell him how wonderful and stupid and purely amazing everything about him is. But in truth, I can't. He knows. I _know _he knows.

Because we keep leaving... But we keep coming back, now don't we? So that's got to mean something. That's got to project some of those feelings...

I sigh... And I stay here... And I live like I should.

And he breathes, and for once I feel that it belongs to me.

**AN: Blah, that feels like an ending, but it's not. I still have some things I had planned out since the beginning for endings, and such. Thanks so much for sticking through this long!**

**Well, what did you think? Go ahead and tell me! Thanks so much!**


	71. 71: Settling

**Chapter 71: Settling**

Somewhere after Briar street, I remember my heart.

And I remember that it's still there, and it always was. Whether or not it wanted to function in pretty ways, it's there beneath my skin, and it's beating and living, and I know this because I can feel it thumping out rhythms so hard that my stomach is complaining about the noise with a nervous ache.

His would be nice. His beat. Nice to hear, I mean. I, uh... I know he's alive. That's not the problem, but I mean... It might stop the fidgeting I'm doing. It might halt my clingy tendencies, and the un-needed jealous thoughts that come with them.

But there are no heart beats in legs, so if you're so worried about hearing them, don't fall half asleep on someones legs while they're driving, because then you can't adjust yourself to rest your ear against the wall of their chest, and feel just the right warmth that you were always so used to, and sigh to that gentle... beat...beat...Uh... beat.

I'm excusing my girly thoughts for my own pride. But that doesn't mean I can't _satisfy_ them.

And shit you not, these legs are the most comfortable legs I have ever hoped to nuzzle this face of mine into. And shit you not, he nuzzles back. Well... His hand to my head, I mean. But it feels nice. And it feels simpler than we are. Wouldn't I love to be simple...

_Choo. _It's a baby hiccup of my own nostril, really. Not even a sneeze, but just my nose _thinking _about sneezing, that's how small it is when my nose gently _achoo_'s in something only slightly more than an exhale. I don't take the time to explain this to Murdoc, who looks right into obvious mole hills and sees mountains.

"If you're getting sick, than it's going to be bad for the both of us, because not only is it going to rub off on me, but first it'll make _me _feel bad because it'll be my fault in the first place."

It's cute. He's a monster, he's a demon, he's a criminal. But he says cute things, and they make me feel like I deserve to hear them sometimes. I don't know why.

"I wasn't going to get sick in the first place. Thanks for the jinx." I yawn, but that's just costume makeup. I'm not really tired. I feel like everything is a little more quaint and warm if one of us is half asleep. "And why would it be your fault, again? Remind me, if you'd be so kind."

"Oh... Hi." He pauses almost awkwardly, and I say almost because Murdoc is not an awkward person. Maybe it's just me, but he still comes off as charming. "Didn't really assume you were awake there. Just kind of chatting to your sleep-drunk body... But if you must know, it'd be my fault for instigating certain situations that left you out in the rain for a few good hours. You feeling alright?"

"Fine."

"No headaches?"

"Naturally." Says I, drumming my fingers casually on his knee for reasons. "I always have headaches."

"Right." He coughs. "I forgot about that."

"No you didn't."

Pause. Almost awkward pause. "I know..."

I yawn, just to fool him. See if he believes my little sleepy kitten act. "Where are we going?"

"We're going bonkers." My least favorite reply to that question, and I think somewhere he knows that. Hence, why he used it. It's funny how much you can care about someone and still love to drive them crazy at every given chance.

"Murdoc Niccals, I swear to god.."

"Alright, alright. We're going home. Don't tell your silly god on me, I beg of you."

"And by home..." I still tap his knee... Just teasing. Then his upper knee... And his thigh... "Do you mean your home, or Paula's parental sanctuary?"

"I actually shouldn't have used the word home..." Like at the push of a button, he switches _that. _"Home is kind of a squishy, feely word. It implies too much, like you've got people who want you there. You've got a reason to go back there, you feel comfortable there, you actually _intend _to stay there for a while. I don't like it."

"You overthink things worse than anyone I've ever met." I _tsk-tsk-tsk _him. "Home doesn't have to be that much. it's just somewhere you can conk out at the end of the day without borrowing pillows. Somewhere you can shit in peace. Somewhere where you don't feel bad about eating everything in the cabinets."

He thinks for a moment, and it's weird how I can feel him thinking. It's in the air, or something. But I can feel it, and it ends with a small breath.

"All of those imply living with someone you're comfortable with."

"Yeah? So?"

"Nothing. I just noticed it."

And now he's nervous. I can feel that too. I don't know exactly why, but he is. Nervous about this whole living together _alone _thing, that we haven't really talked about. But it's there. And it's a _thing._

"Even if home is a feely squishy word, why is that a bad thing?" I ask. He thinks. I go on. "Don't you want somewhere where you've got people who want you to come home? Don't you want somewhere with reasons to go back? Don't you want to be comfortable somewhere?"

I can taste the hesitation in his lingering breath. No mouth contact needed. And he puffs a little smokeless sigh, and I can feel the need for that smoke exist in that small breath.

"Mmm...Probably...Yeah."

Probably is a word that itches me in the wrong ways. Probably means maybe. Maybe means no. Maybe always means no. "Aren't you comfortable with me?"

"Mm, w-well.." He stalls himself with his own clumsy tongue. "I, uh... See, it depends in what sense you're going to-"

I halt his little miniature word crumble with my own sigh. "No, not within any sentences or anything. There you go again. Overthinking. Are you comfortable here? I mean... all of this, what we're uh... going to jump into... Do you wanna' do it?"

"Do it, or do _it?"_ He chuckles immaturely. I listen to myself, and I'm doing it do. I can't help it, really. I did say _do it._ You can't really not laugh when someone says _do you wanna' do it._

"You have the libido of a fifteen year old, I swear. You know exactly what I meant... Are you uh... Are you comfortable with me?"

There's a long silence here that I made up in my own head. What feels like thirty years, is really just thirty seconds in an aged mask. But I'm sitting here, and I'm imagining him secretly hating me. Secretly wanting to be free again, after twenty minutes or less of being sort of mine. The funny thing about thinking these sort of thoughts is that quite often thinking them hurts you much more than those thoughts actually happening.

But I don't know if that fits here. If you love something, you'd better damn set it free if it's kicking around in your arms. And yet I only hold tighter.

"I gave you a key, didn't I?" That thumb of his, so rough and warm. It's so secretive as it strokes the nape of my neck like some sort of elusive spy. Quietly twirling strands of my hair like it wants to be there. Like it maybe just doesn't wants to be a secret.

"You did." I smile. And do you know how good it feels to wear a real smile? "And what does that mean?"

"It means we're going to go home." He says. "Or my flat building. Whatever you like to title it, I don't care. And you're going to go home and take some cold reducer because I worry about your sickish little brain, and we're going to sleep, and we're going to be fucking happy, and that's what it means when I say we're going home... Just don't worry about it."

I'd tell him that I'm not sick. I'd tell him that I'm not tired. I'd tell him that I'd much rather take him for a ride in that little bed I've never been in before, and I'd tell him that nobody can use the word fucking before happy, or it's probably not so true.

But somehow I shut up. And I hear the rain, and I hear this car, and I hear everything else that doesn't matter.

And for once, I don't hear my own voice ruining things.

And actually...And maybe... I think I fall asleep.

_/

I'm waking up, and I'm asking myself what sunshine smells like. I guess that's just what being tired is, and you can either try and screw your head on a little tighter, or I guess you can point your nose to the sky and start sniffing for sunshine.

So naturally, I wiggle my nose and sniff. That's the title of a tired idiot, I guess. We are sunshine sniffers, and that's just how it goes. However, as fate should have it the little hand has probably skipped a few past twelve by now, and I don't think the sunshine is ready and up to sniffing standards after midnight.

"Hey, you." I almost don't notice the voice of the lap I'm laying on. "Uppity-up. We're here."

Notice he didn't say _home,_ and I guess the fact that I noticed that means I'm coming to here.

"I'm trying to smell the sun, be quiet." Hah. Scratch that _coming to _bit.

"What? Uh. Okay. You can smell it in the morning if it's that important. C'mon."

"I don't wanna'."

He yawns out most of his patience. "C'mon, you sloth blooded ninny. I haven't a problem with leaving you out here to freeze, y'know."

"...I'm_ tired_."

"Fine, than. But don't come knocking when a gang of homeless goons decide _that blue haired kid in the car over there _looks like a good addition to their gang-rape-party."

Sounds lovely. _Sniff the sunshine._ Oh wait, no it doesn't. That sounds terrible.

What a terrible image to give to a newly retired sleeper. And I'm still thinking of it when we leave the car. We're cutting through the rain like a couple of closet moths newly exposed to an overly bright lamp. I'm quite a closet moth myself, if you take those terms into a different light.

And this lamp of ours is the slightly battered door to Murdoc's home, give or take that word. We take to it without any indications of being grateful.

I can't sniff the sunshine, let alone the interior that I'm sucked into for only the second time in my life. It's only now that I realize that I _should _be smelling a hotbed of burnt plant and artificial feel-good scents, like _Aloha-Vanilla, _or _After the rain_. Y'know. Any of those doopey little faker scents that he uses to put on a good mask for lonely women or landlords.

But you don't exactly need to smell _after the rain _when it's already raining. Or for that matter, when you can't really smell at all.

The jinx is complete. I'm mildly ill. The door closes at Murdoc's hand, and shuts out any offer of light there was outside. We're left in a sizeless box of darkness and zero scent. Like, I could be anywhere...

Or I _could_ be anywhere if it weren't for that sound. Oh my god, it's beautiful. Why does anything so cheap deserve to be so pretty? It's only rain. It's only the god damned hush pitter of bad weather, but it sounds beautiful because that's what we're used to.

Dark room. No smell. No sight. Just the rain breathing into my ear. And it will always be pretty because it will always be pretty. I can't explain.

After a moment, he hasn't said anything. It turns out I think, that the only reason for that is that he's trying to do something by the door. Trying to turn the light on, I think maybe.

"Fuck this shitty string of no good weather." He grumbles, and interrupts my little trance that the noises have given me. "Powers out."

"Ah." I fake this little disappointed grunt, and it comes out believable. Ish. "Damn. What's it with you and darkness, eh? Just your luck, I guess."

"It's not anything to do with me! It's this rotten weather, and I SHIT you not-"

"Murdoc, calm down." I hush him. It's strange, because he stays hush. No objection. I like that. "I don't even know where I am. I'm tired. How many steps till I can get somewhere sleepable?"

"twenty or so to your left, and you'll hit a window." Deadpan comedy. Action. "Bust through there and you'll probably sleeping for a good while."

"Ha-ha." I entertain him with forced laughter and paw about in the dark. You know... Like I'll actually find some magical route to a fancy magical bed made of unicorn droppings and elf chest hair. "I'm noting for later that you basically just told me to kill myself. Now really, where's your bedroom?"

"Straight ahead through a door-like-thing."

Because yes, I can definitely make out a _door-like-thing_ through the dark. I'm kind of scrambling, now. A bit quickly for a sleepy sightless moron, I have to say. I think when you're in this sort of state you'll do anything for that bitter craving that demands only sweet, uninterrupted sleep. Like stumble through a black maze of hidden obstacles, and hope Murdoc hasn't left like... a potted cactus, or an angry fat guy around every corner. Those wouldn't be fun to bump into. But-

"Ow." Wall. Yes, that was definitely a wall. Not a door. Yes, distinctly a wall.

"Alright, Sherlock." The game ends when a pair of curious hands takes a sudden interest in grabbing my shoulders. "That's enough sleuthing for tonight, I think."

So ends my game of hide and seek, and so begins his game of _grab Stuart and manhandle him into finding his way to the bedroom._ I play it fairly.

The drunken thoughts in my actually sober brain have taken over my motor skills, apparently. He pushes me carefully through whatever path he's taking to the door, and I only just walk and think.

I think about Russel, and Noodle, and where they are. And I think of what Mum's going to think when I don't show up. And I feel bad, for a moment. For leaving them all, maybe. For wanting this independence with someone else. And in those breaths that I feel upon my neck, I feel that independence. That together alone. And maybe I don't feel so bad for being happy.

Of course now, I haven't been listening much at all. _Welcome, welcome._ Or something like that, he's saying. My tired body hits the bed in much the same way an egg hits the sidewalk. The shell of your average guy, cracking onto a bed and dripping out a tired idiot who can't smell the sun. And yet, I am content.

I breathe my exhaustion into a probably bedspread that feels like it's never been made. "Tell whoever invented beds that I want to personally fuck their brains out for the next three years."

He chuckles out a little _ha-ha_ that bounces off of my brain like cold hard plastic, because fake laughter does that afterall. The spot next to me sinks down a bit as he sits, and I'm secretly hoping my little remark made him jealous of whatever smart son of a bitch birthed the invention of beds.

"If you're that tired, than go to bed." That kind of voice he's using was meant for goodnight and goodbye, which I'm not ready for just yet.

"Naw."

"Yeah? And why is that?" He lights something up, which I don't realize is a cigarette at first. Maybe I thought he was going to burn down the flat complex and leave me in the flame. But it's just a cigarette. And I'm just paranoid.

"Dunno. Just happy, I guess."

I hear his breath be taken in, and spit back out in a smooth curl of _would be grey if I could see it_ smoke into the emptiness. "Oh are you?"

I'm sitting up with the need to get cheesy, fresh and ready inside of me. And believe this, there is enough romantic cheesy feely gunk built up in my system to entirely fill a series of sappy pink covered books. I could list.

_I didn't know sunshine could be so dark_

Shut up, thoughts. Go back to the squishy part of my brain, where you belong. (Which is most of it, now that I consider that.)

I swear on anything, I don't even catch myself scoot over to him. I'm just here, all of the sudden. And all of the sudden still, my chin is on his shoulder, and I'm just so faintly desperately trying to smell the smoke.

It's a late response. But late is better than nothing. "I am... You er... You make me happy... And I like you."

I speak his language. I like you. He knows the meaning. And I know what he means.

"I like you too... A lot."

This is his language. And they say new languages opens up new doors, do they not? Well it opens up other things. It opens your arms, maybe. Because he's pulling me in, and I'm saying _I like you_. I'm swinging my legs over his and settling in, and he's saying it too. I'm burying my head into the curve of his neck, and I'm thinking _I love you. _He's fooling his hands about in my hair, and I hope...I hope that he's thinking it too...

It takes less than three seconds for his shirt to hit the ground.

And it takes less than three seconds after that for mine to be removed. I can't smell, but I can feel. And I can feel this happening. I can feel things going places, and my skin beginning to subtly coax my sweat out of its pores.

This is us. Three seconds of tension and a couple _I like you_'s, and we're here.

My legs fold carefully around his waist like they've been waiting to fit there for a long time. And my, have they. I'm fully convinced that our mouths have been on a hunt for each other in the dark, and when the prizes are found, I am more than happy with my winnings. Until now, I think that my tongue has been cold and lonely and frozen in a state of wishing. Wishing for this taste that I've found again. Now... Now it's warm, and my fingernails are caving into my palms at the discovery of his warm lips thawing out what was cold.

I've had the taste earlier, and now I know that I'm ready for the full thing.

It's like we're indecisive kissers. Our lips just mouthing each other, parting and reconnecting every few seconds. His lips are teasing me somehow. I bite one of them. Just for a reaction. And that tiny little mew of a groan I get from him what I think I hoped for.

The world could have just sunken into the ocean, and I wouldn't have noticed. That's much of the reason why I don't notice my pants being removed and tossed away, let alone do I feel his hands deciding to travel down to my underwear and sneak around. Or maybe I do. But he kisses me again. So maybe I don't.

His neck has been calling me, and I decide to answer to it. I leave his mouth for that special spot. Right between the shoulder and the neck. Right where the skin gets softer. I bite. I suck. I kiss. Leaving a trail of purple lovebites and slobber wherever I please.

And then I stop. I stop the kissing. I stop the biting. I stop the touching. I stop because code red. I stop because a foreign object has _entered_ a foreign area. My spine tightens my back, and sharpens the shock in my chilled body. You know what, I didn't feel him even touch my underwear, let alone sneak a _finger_ through it.

Yes, yes, you heard me correct, brain. My arse canal or whatever it is, is tightening nervously around a _finger._ A _fucking_ _finger. _Literally. I need a second to catch up with myself, here. Or to catch up with him, rather. To admit this to myself. Murdoc's finger is in my arse. What is this tomfoolery? Why do weird things feel so... weird?! And kind of good?

He wiggles a fingertip around, and _fuck _his nails are uncut. He's only got about a third of his finger up. But I can _feel_ them. I can feel his fingernails with my _bum. _He chuckles, because apparently I've just made this odd little gasping moan.

Of course, to catch my nerves while they're still fresh, he leans in to whisper, and gives the top curve of my ear a swift lick. "Does that feel weird?"

"M-Murdoc..." Asks my uneasy mind. "Murdoc, that k-kind of hurts a little bit..."

Not like he's never given me a literal pain in my arse before, but _fingernails...Fingernails! _Couldn't he at least cut them first if he was planning on giving me a pointy rectal exam?!

"What..." He teases with that barbed little sexual tone of his. "You don't like it?"

He wiggles it again. No, wait. He's not wiggling, he's like... He's almost... massaging? Is that it-oh... Oh, wow... Oh _wow..._Well, shit. This is how it is. I'm getting fingered. Like a _girl._ And on his _lap,_ too. If I ever had any hope of redeeming any manliness I ever had _ever_, it's gone. Poof. Nada-whatever.

And whats worse? I'm not just getting fingered. I'm getting fingered, and I'm_ enjoying _it. Uh-oh. And there it goes. Like a switch, like a button. That little shift in my pants. I am erectile-ishly erect, if that even makes any sense.

"It-It's not that I don't like it.. You're, you're really... Wonderful job, outstanding... I-I just feel... Do I look overly feminine? Because I feel-"

"Stu."

"Uh-..Uh huh?"

"Be quiet." And at his command, I'm zipped like a suitcase. A _flowery _suitcase. A_ male _suitcase, none the less, who always just so happens to be... Just so happens to be... A very lucky suitcase. That's true. I am a very lucky suitcase, lucky to have such an... umm owner.

And for no reason at all, (I'm sure though, that this isn't entirely without reason) he kisses me again. And it feels at random. I mean, don't get me wrong. I like kissing. Hell, everyone likes kissing. But this one feels almost like-

Fuck. That was a distraction, I repeat, a distraction. A mere activity to idle my senses while he tunnels up even _further. _My small yelp is lost in his mouth. And what's more, my will to ask him to stop is lost somewhere in the many layers of satisfaction that I haven't gotten in the time I've been without Murdoc.

Pause. And let me tell you, I have _tried _to sleep with other women. Your keyword there, is _tried. _Those were little affairs that would almost always end in tears or heavy masturbation. Erm, mostly the second one. And here I am. receiving the first sexual interaction I've gotten in _weeks_ that isn't my left hand.

He tunnels again. This time, squirming his way up to what must be all the way up there. And my lips do not suffice in holding back an echoing squeak that probably only fuels him all the more. And I notice that it hurts. But I also notice that little tingle, that warm shock that shouts from my stomach to my spine, and arches my back a little bit as my head, completely against my will, flicks backward towards the ceiling.

Yeah, yeah. Forgive me, but I'm getting off.

Oh lord, my penis. Oh shit fucking all mighty lord of the flies, my penis. I swear to you, it's _calling_ to me. Just begging to join in, begging to be touched, to be a part of the party here. Be quiet, Stuart Junior!... Oh _fine._ If you _must_ be that way. I snake a hand down to my somehow still remaining knickers, and just so secretively sneak a hand through the fabric to fool around a bit and entertain myself.

Murdoc wouldn't like that. He likes to do _everything _himself. But it's dark in here, anyway. What can he see? What can he feel? Oh. Well, apparently everything, because he's just smacked my hand away and replaced it with his own free set of fingers. I smirk to myself and hold back little shutters as he thumbs my tip around in this little circular motion, down there. And _I'm_ only sitting here cringing and whining like a mentally damaged sloth.

But you know, every time we do anything like this there's this little click in my brain. This little click that tells me all of the possible tension in my thighs and my chest and my groin has built up to as high a point as it's going to build. And it tells me, it says _Alright, Stuart, you're done. _And just now, it clicks. My toes are probably damaging my feet with the way they're curling, my thighs are twitching, and the warmth swimming and swishing around in my stomach is quite ready I think, to go ka-boom.

No, no, no! Now now! It's been what, ten minutes?! Gah! This always happens when I'm tired! Every damned time! I always tell myself, I always do_! Never do sexy things when you're tired, stuart. You'll fail miserably, STUART._ And here I am, half asleep already, and about to blow my wad on someone who's probably expecting more.

"F-fuck... Um, Murdoc.." I decide to try and warn him. Might as well prepare him for obvious disappointment. "I-I think I'm gonna'-"

A-aaand Boom, goes the dynamite. The knots in my chest hitch, as my product of these ten or twelve minutes, is just as quickly freed onto wherever it may land on him. I'm left a sloppily breathing mess. Tired, ashamed, and ultimately satisfied beyond belief.

B-but, uh... He's chuckling? At me?! How... Of all the dirty... Why I should... But it doesn't sound mean. He sounds satisfied, or something. But how? I didn't do nothing. I just sat here being a limp moron, and he's laughing in satisfaction?

"I uh... Sorry." I bite my lip and prepare for the worst as I feel his finger not-so-gently twirl out of me, scratching the walls of my arse with those sharp fingernails as he does.

"Er, why?" He acts like he doesn't know. What a card.

"For... For y'know.."

"For?... Oh, pff. Shut up." He falls backward to the bed into his comfort, and pulls me down onto him as he does. "You worry too much. I'm tired, anyway. Sometimes all it takes is a small taste... You do owe me later, though."

"Pff. Yeah, alright." I go ahead and get comfortable. I may be a try-hard loser, but I still deserve comfort, maybe. I rest my body next to his, and it fits there so perfectly imperfect. My head still stays flat on his chest. And I wouldn't move it if I could. Like magic, that little smouldering blot of red reappears in the air. That same cigarette, re-lit from it's early fate. I didn't even know you could do that until Murdoc told me.

He smokes it, and it becomes more obvious to me now, that I don't feel bad for being happy. I like this. And I like him, and I like being here. Maybe you replace those likes with love, and you'll get an idea of where I'm at. And, yeah. I'm happy.

I'm so completely happy. And I want the world to know.

No, really. I want the world to know. It occurs to me how tired I am of lying. How tired I am of hiding underneath my own fake hatred for this guy. I want out. Of hiding, I mean. Maybe it's time to crawl out from under the bed. I want the soul selling business. I want that secretive little _just for business _joining in hands thing, or whatever. Not needed. But wanted.

"Murdoc, I wanna' tell people." That was quick. Swift, and out of my mouth without a second thought of leaving. I don't much regret it.

"Oh... wow."

"It's getting really hard to hide, you know. And we're running out of excuses."

"Stuart.." Oh, don't Stuart me.

"Murdoc, at least promise me." I breathe. "That sometime _eventually_ I won't have to lie to my family anymore, or make excuses that Noodle and Russel won't believe, or go out with random women for a fucking publicity stunt. Just... Just tell me we'll find a way."

"If it's that important to you, than fine." Wait... Huh? Fine? Was that an agreement? Was that really an agreement, or did someone sneak a hit of something in my iced tea again?

"...R-really?"

"Yes, really." He says, and it seems so unreal. But it is. It's... It's real, I mean.

"When?"

"Eventually." He says in the tone of a man who very much needs his sleep. "Eventually, I said, now go to sleep."

And in those words, there is something that snakes his arm around my shoulder, and pull me in just a little closer. We're settling. We're _settling, _and that on it's own is so amazing because I've never settled before. I listen to him breathe, and I listen to the rain, and in less than five minutes he is asleep.

I am not.

I try, but I don't. Because I'm excited. Because I'm happy. Happy about this little thing, and I have the right to be. The way I see it, you can find your happiness in money and sex and cars and houses and magazines and yada-yada-yish. And that's fine, and that's great.

But I never thought I'd be the type to find it here. Thinking is overrated, anyways.

**AN: Thanks so much for waiting forever. Summers here, so updating should be easier. Hang on guys, we're almost there. Got some major thingies coming up, I promise you.**

**Thanks so much for reading, and what did you think? Do be sure and tell me! **

**Thanks**


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